


More Than

by Boogum



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Angst, F/M, Humor, IDENTITY SHENANIGANS, Identity Reveal, Mutual Pining, Pining, Post-Reveal Pre-Relationship, Romance, just all the pining, rednana, rednana august 2020, this started as a joke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:40:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 30,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25667587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boogum/pseuds/Boogum
Summary: A blind date gone wrong. An act of kindness. It should have ended there, but then she found him again at his workplace—the other one, that is. The one where he didn't wear a banana suit.Or in which double identities are a problem, lollipops should be avoided at all costs, and everyone really needs to stay peachy. (written for rednana august 2020)
Relationships: August’s Mother/Mr Banana
Comments: 241
Kudos: 66





	1. the colour red

**Author's Note:**

> Originally started posting this in the "warning: may contain traces of stupid" collection, but then I realised it was a full-fledged story and it had to be its own thing. still trying to process that fhakjafk

She’d spilled sauce all down her front—big smears of red that were like an artistic spatter of paint tossed at the canvas of her shirt, except her painter hadn’t been very good. This was mortifying. And her date was just staring at her in disgust, like the sight of a woman spilling food on herself was akin to saying you hate puppies and kittens and wanted to replace every pet in the world with a prickly rock named Bruce. (Sorry, Bruce. We know it’s not your fault.)

“Uh, are you going to clean that up?” her date asked.

She forced a smile, though she did take small delight in imagining squeezing the condiment bottles all over his head. The gentlemanly thing to do would be to help her or at least try to make her feel better, but not this guy. He only knew the language of Jerk.

She stood up, hitting her knee from the abruptness and letting out a loud hiss. Suddenly, a banana was in front of her. A giant, grinning banana.

She blinked. The banana did not blink. (It didn’t seem to be able to.)

“Here,” the banana said, handing her his napkin and then positioned himself in front of her so he was blocking her saucy front. “And now everyone will stare at me.” Then he did finger guns and said more loudly, “Stay peachy, everyone!”

August’s mother, red-haired and currently covered in sauce, couldn’t help her tiny smile. Was this what they’d call a hero in banana armour?


	2. the colour yellow

“The ‘stay peachy’ guy?” Diane exclaimed, choking on her own spit. “Oh, Floria, honey—”

Floria rubbed the back of her neck, a blush warming her cheeks. “He was nice,” she said, and then leaned down over the pram to wiggle her finger on August’s belly. “Wasn’t he, August? Yesssh.”

August giggled and tried to grab her finger. She hoped with all her heart that no lollipops or lollipop-shaped things came within the vicinity of the park today. The last thing she needed was for Hawkmoth to akumatise her son again. 

Diane shook her head. “I can’t believe you fancy the banana guy. You don’t even like the colour yellow.”

Floria shrugged. “It could grow on me.”

“And the banana suit? You gonna look past that, too? You don’t even know what he looks like! He could be sixty and have no teeth for all you know!”

“He sounds younger than that. Besides, I know that he tried to help me, unlike the guy you set me up with.”

Diane shook her head. “I can’t believe this …”

A beep came from Floria’s phone. She fished it out of her pocket.

“And you have him as your lockscreen!” Diane cried in tones of great disgust—the kind that would make a Shakespearian actor proud. Nothing, it seemed, could have been more dreadful to her than that bananary face stuck in a frozen smile and pulling fingers guns.

Floria smiled dreamily at the photo, unperturbed by her friend’s despair. All that yellow actually was starting to grow on her. It reminded her of sunshine and … okay, yes, bananas.

“I need a drink,” Diane decided.

“But it’s not even noon.”

“Exactly.”

Floria shrugged. She couldn’t help where her heart had chosen to go. The banana man intrigued her, and he was sweet and gentlemanly in his own way. She hoped that she got to meet him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> August’s mum has no name and I didn’t want to have to keep writing “August’s mum”, so she’s hereby dubbed Floria because that was the first thing that popped into my head


	3. orang this time

He was known as the banana man, the ‘stay peachy’ guy, but when he wasn’t all dressed up like a yellow fruit and pulling finger guns, he was just Louis. Brown skin with warm, golden undertones. Dark brown hair that was curly and often pulled back in a ponytail. His eyes were also brown, and his glasses slightly skewed from where he’d sat on them once. (Or twice.) People could pass him on the street and they wouldn’t know. That was the thing about being a celebrity who wore a costume suit: no one really knew who you were under the mask. It was like having a super hero identity.

The little bell to _le coin tranquille_ tinkled. Louis glanced up from where he’d been wiping down a table. The cloth slipped through his fingers, and his jaw almost followed.

It was her. The damsel in sauce, striking like a lightning bolt with her orange hair. Why was she here?

The door slipped from her elbow, and her nose scrunched in frustration as she tried to get the pram inside the café. He half-tripped over a chair as he moved to help, straightening his apron and pushing back a wayward brown curl.

“Here,” he said, and quickly held the door open for her.

She paused, her head tilting.

His throat bobbed. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” she murmured, and then her puzzled expression broke into a smile. “You just seemed familiar.”

He swallowed back a sigh of relief. His banana identity was still safe. “Guess I have one of those faces. So, uh, can I get you and this little guy”—he nodded to the baby in the pram—"a table?”

“Add a coffee to that, and that will be perfect.”

A grin curved his lips. “That I can do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mr Banana is hereby dubbed Louis because he needed a name and Floria and Louis has a nice ring


	4. uhhhhhhhh

“The usual, right?” Louis said as he guided Floria to the table she preferred, the one by the window that was out of the sun but still caught the light. Baby August wasn’t with her today. Perhaps he was with the grandparents again.

“Yes, thanks.”

She was rummaging through her handbag, not even looking at him. He left her to it and went off to make her usual coffee. The busy rush hadn’t started yet and she was the only customer in the café. Like clockwork, though, she always came at this time. It was how they had started chatting—how he always started chatting with the regulars and learnt whether they liked a bit of social chit-chat (she did), what their names were, and how their days and lives were going. Helped that she was nice. Pretty, too.

He brought her cup of steaming coffee over—decorated with a foamy, delicate leaf—and placed it down on the table. A smile sparkled to life on her face.

Damn. That smile could knock the breath out of a guy faster than a punch to the gut. The way it lit up her eyes …

“Thanks,” she said, meeting his gaze.

He lingered near her table, fussing with the stack of serviettes on another. “So,” he said casually, sneaking glances at her from under his lashes. “Been on any more blind dates?”

Her brows drew in with a snap. “What?”

Oh crap. He froze like he’d been hit with some kind of paralysis akuma magic. He’d been dressed as Mr Banana when he’d helped her with her bad blind date. Abort! Abort! All the aborts!

“What did you say?” she said, sharper now.

“Uhhhhh …”

She placed her cup down, her eyes narrowing. “You … you’re not—”

“I was there!” The words burst out of him, awkwardly loud like air gushing from a deflating balloon. “At the restaurant when you got sauce down your front. I saw the whole thing.”

“But how would you know that guy was my blind date? I only told Mr Banana.”

His pulse throbbed almost painfully in his neck. “Mr Banana told me. We’re—we’re friends.”

They stared at each other. One blink. Two blinks.

“Oh, good,” she said, shoulders slumping into a more relaxed position. “For a moment I thought you were some crazy stalker.”

He winced. That was actually worse than his fear that she had discovered his banana alter ego.

“Nope,” he said with a strained laughed. “A-anyway, I’ll leave you to your coffee.”

He turned on his heel, mouthing _“Idiot”_ over and over under his breath. This was why he should stick to house plants and fiction for the only warmth in his life. Pursuing attraction was bad. Pursuing attraction only ever got him in awkward situations. His heart was still racing and wheezing like an old man trying to run uphill, walking stick lost a kilometre ago.

“Wait,” she said.

He froze, swallowing.

“You … you’re really friends with Mr Banana?”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah.”

Rosy pink bloomed on her cheeks like a bud unfurling. “Do you … could you maybe get his autograph for me?”

Louis’ jaw dropped. “Come again?”


	5. bananas

Floria smoothed down her sundress and adjusted how her cardigan sat on her shoulders. She wore heels and had pulled her hair up—a rare thing these days since August didn’t grab at her hair all the time now. Louis, the nice waiter, had got her a behind-the-stage meeting with Mr Banana. A chance to not only get an autograph but also talk to him. It was perfect.

She pressed her lips lightly together, testing if she needed to redo her lipstick. It would be awful if they had got that dry, flaky look, but then it would be doubly awful if Mr Banana came out of the room and saw her reapplying lipstick. Probably give him the wrong idea.

And what about her mascara? What if it had smudged or—

The door opened. She froze as if zapped into a wax statue. Mr Banana smiled at her. (Not that he could do anything else.)

“Floria, Hi.”

“Hi.”

She was still frozen. She felt like she was thirteen again and trying to talk to her school crush, her heart fluttering about like a nervous bird. Ugh, why couldn’t she at least relax her smile? It probably looked as strained and fake as his costume’s.

“Oh wow,” he said. “Your dress …” 

She unfroze enough to glance down at her dress. It was blue and decorated with bananas. She’d thought it a funny joke. He was dressed as a banana; she had bananas on her dress. But now her stomach churned and the flutters turned to hammering little knocks against her ribs.

Oh no, was it too much? Would he think her one of those crazy fans? Would he never want to see her again?

“Bananas,” he said, and then pulled finger guns. “Nice.”

Relief swept through her, softening the strained cracks in her cheeks and easing the look in her eyes to one of shared humour instead of _oh crap, oh crap, trapped in the headlights, this mortal shell is but a conduit to shame and the world mocks my pain._

“Thanks,” she said. “I thought it fitting.”

“Very fitting.”

Her smile widened.

He leaned against the doorframe, banana face resting on his arm and one foot propped against his ankle. “So, I heard you wanted an autograph.”

“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all.”

Her heart thumped faster as he moved closer and accepted the pen and paper that she offered him. There was a piece of confetti stuck on his upper arm, no doubt left there from the show. She plucked it off without thinking.

He paused. Right. She had just touched him. Not the suit. _Him_ him.

“S-sorry,” she said, stepping back and holding her hands up like a caught robber. The piece of pink confetti glinted between her fingers. “It—pink—and I—”

She tossed the confetti and then scuttled away like a frightened crab, ignoring all of his calls for her to wait.

Such an idiot.


	6. peaches

“I ran away!” Floria wailed, hiding her face against her palms. Her hair was down today and formed a veiling curtain. “I just panicked and ran away.”

Louis made a sympathetic sound and placed the peach pastry she’d ordered on the table. He resisted the urge to touch her back, maybe rub her arm in comfort. They weren’t close enough for that. “I’m sure he didn’t think badly of you.”

“How can he not? I’m an adult and I ran away from him like some flustered child.”

She continued to mutter to herself, leaving him awkwardly standing there, not sure what to do. Or maybe it was more that he didn’t know what he should do. The lies he’d told her felt like a sticky coating on his tongue. Impossible to ignore. Impossible to swallow down.

Would it be better to just tell her the truth now? Tell her that he was Mr Banana. Tell her that he was sorry for tricking her. Hope that she’d forgive him.

His heart thumped in sickening drops, lurching for his throat and battering against his ribs. But what if she didn’t forgive him? What if he never saw her again? No more chats at the café. No more Floria to greet him after a show in her cute but silly banana dress. No more chance of seeing if there could ever be something more between them.

“You know,” Louis said softly, “he spoke to me about you—”

She twitched, reminding him of an irish setter cocking one ear in intrigue. 

“—and he said he just hoped he hadn’t made you uncomfortable.”

In a rush, she emerged from her hands. “No! He could never. I was the one who—I thought I’d made _him_ uncomfortable.”

Louis’ heart thumped faster as he met her anxious gaze. It wasn’t so wrong what he was doing, right? Not really lies. At least not bad ones. He was just saying what he did feel, what he had thought. Really, he was only trying to make her feel better. 

“You didn’t,” he said, swallowing against the pulsing hum in his ears. “He was surprised at the touch, but it wasn’t a bad thing.”

Everything about her seemed to relax, like a pinched bundle of nerves released. Her hunched shoulders eased into something more natural, more hopeful. “He really didn’t think I was weird?”

“No. He was sorry you left so quickly, though. He’d hoped to talk to you more.”

Her smile was small and soft, like a secret thing he wasn’t meant to see. Too precious. Too tender. Flutters stirred in his stomach. His heart changed its rhythm, forgetting its little guilty song to play for this new stirring of emotion. 

Then he remembered.

“Oh!” he exclaimed.

She jumped. “What?”

“Mr Banana wanted me to give you something. Hold on.”

He dashed out back and rummaged in his bag, pulling out the pen and signed autograph she had left in her haste. When he handed them over to her, their fingertips brushed like two feathers colliding—brief and light, but oh how he wished the moment could have lasted longer. That shocked him into stepping back.

“You forgot them,” he said, coughing to clear his throat.

“He kept them for me?”

“Yeah.”

She smiled that soft little smile again and ran her fingertip over the autograph. “Tell him I said thanks,” she murmured.

“Sure, though I think he’d like it better coming from you.”

Pink dusted her cheeks. “Maybe I can catch him at his next show. Think you could set that up again?”

He nodded, then turned to head back to the counter.

“Louis?”

He glanced over his shoulder questioningly.

“Thank you.” Her smile was bigger, the one that lit up her eyes like emeralds flecked with sunshine and snatched his breath in an entirely different way. “I know you’re just putting up with me because I’m a customer and it’s your friend I’m interested in, but—”

“No.”

She paused, head tilting.

“I do it because I want you to be happy, Floria.”

Her eyes widened.

A group of older women entered the café, and Louis quickly moved to greet them. Whatever Floria might have responded, it was left unsaid and forgotten.


	7. haircut

Floria stood near the doors to the studio and fished around in her bag for her phone. She’d just had a wonderful time talking to Mr Banana after the show and was still feeling like pleasant mush. He really was a sweetheart. All of her nerves had been wiped away like chalk on a slate, his jokes and friendly manner easing her in an instant.

“Yep, I’ll see you next week,” someone said, coming out from the doors behind her.

She spun around on her heel, a smile stretching across her face. She knew that voice.

“Louis!”

He froze. “Oh. Floria, you’re still—I mean hey!”

“I didn’t realise you were here.” Her brow puckered. “I didn’t see you in the audience.”

“Oh …” He rubbed the base of his neck, glancing around and biting his lip. “I was … um, helping out back. Doing a favour and all.”

“That was nice of you.”

A shrug was all she got in response. Her gaze narrowed in on his lack of glasses—contacts?—and then to his hair. The brown curls were shorter, curling around his ears instead of the usual ponytail with a few loose strands slipping free. She tilted her head as she examined his new look.

“What?” he said, rubbing his neck again.

“You got a haircut.”

“Oh.” He breathed out a laugh. “Yeah. It was getting a bit long.”

“It looks good.”

Without thinking, she stepped closer and ruffled his curls. He stilled, inhaling an audible breath. His eyes widened like twin moons carved from tiger’s eye—flecks of amber and brown interwoven. It was only then she realised what she had done: how her hand had relaxed into his hair. How their faces were so close now, made more apparent since they were the same height. 

She stepped back hurriedly. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he said, though his cheeks looked suspiciously darker. “It’s not like we’re strangers.”

“Right.” She forced out a laugh. “Not strangers at all …”

Silence.

He adjusted his bag strap on his shoulder. She glanced to the left, then down at their shoes. This was so much easier when they met in the café. Or maybe it was because she’d ruffled and touched his hair as if they’d been friends their whole lives …

Yeah, that would do it.

“Um, so I’d better get home,” she said, forcing a smile. “Don’t want to make August’s babysitter go overtime.”

“Right. Sure. I’ve got to get home as well.”

She opened her bag and grabbed her phone. “Just gotta check when the next train is coming …”

“Um.”

She glanced at him.

“I could give you a ride.” He shrugged, offering a tentative smile. “It’s late and you’d still have to walk to the metro, so … yeah. Offer is there.”

“You’d do that?”

He nodded, his smile widening so it turned more lopsided, though she had to admit she kind of liked his crooked smiles. They were warm in a very real way.

She bit her lip, glancing from her phone to the keys she could see clutched in his hand. A lot of her friends would have warned her against accepting the offer, reminding her that she didn’t know him _that_ well. But Floria found those fears didn’t stack up right with Louis. He was … a friend. Or at least on the way to becoming one, she hoped.

“Okay,” she said, slipping her phone back in her bag. “Thanks.”


	8. banana unmasked

“Louis, guess what!” Floria exclaimed as she entered the café. Or tried to enter. She had August in the pram today, and the door was being unhelpful.

Louis rushed over to help, offering a smile and wave at little August, then fixed his attention on her. “What?”

“Mr Banana and I went on a date last night.”

Louis stared. He blinked once. Twice. A third time. “I’m sorry … what?”

“I went to meet him after the show like I usually do, and we got talking and, well …” Pink spread over her cheeks. “He asked me if I wanted to get dessert with him and I said yes.” She beamed, her whole face lighting up like starlight.

His expression was frozen—smile too strained, eyes haunted by the void. Louis.exe had stopped functioning. There were only error messages and a continuous scream of _WHAT?_

“Y-you don’t say,” he said faintly.

Was this a dream? This had to be a dream, right? He had not been at the studio last night. He had been sick in bed, surrounded by tissues and books he hadn’t had the energy to read. Heck, he’d fallen asleep before filming had even started.

“Um.” His voice came out like a croak. “I’m assuming he wasn’t wearing the banana suit when you went on that date.”

She laughed. “No, of course not.”

“Right.” Louis licked his suddenly dry lips. “And he told you his name?”

“Well, yeah.”

The strained smile felt like it was going to break his face, cracking everything into splinters. “Remind me of it again.”

Little creases formed on her brow. She tilted her head, lips twisting in confusion. “Uh, he’s your friend.”

“I know, I know. Just humour me, please.”

Judging by her expression, she’d rather place her hand against his forehead and check if he had a high fever. “It’s Ben.”

A forced laugh. “That’s it.”

Inwardly, his scream only got louder. Of course it was Ben. Benjamin the smarmy, sneaky stand-in. That jerk!

“I’m”—the words choked his throat, little lumps that were hard to spit out—“I’m glad you had a good time with Ben.” His smile cracked even more. “Ben, who is my friend.”

She frowned. “Are you okay, Louis?”

He nodded, if rather woodenly. “Great. Never been better.”

Then he turned away from her and mouthed all the curses he had been holding in. How was he supposed to fix this?


	9. lollipops

“You!” Louis sat down opposite Ben in the break room. “Explain.”

Ben smiled that perfect, definitely-had-braces-or-was-just-blessed-by-the-gene-god smile and stretched out on his chair, crossing his ankles. “You call that a greeting?”

Louis gritted his teeth. “You know what you did.”

“Well, someone had to.” He unwrapped a lollipop, one lock of his blond hair falling into his eyes. “I mean you weren’t doing anything.”

“I—well, that’s just—”

Ben grinned and twirled the lollipop between his fingers, the pink and white swirl spinning like a merry-go-round. “How were you planning to take this little thing with Floria further?”

Louis opened and closed his mouth.

“Well?”

Louis finally retrieved his voice from the deep void of _error, what are words, life is hell and I am but a plaything for the devils to poke with pitchforks of my regrets_. “That still doesn’t mean you can pretend to be me!”

“But I’m not.” Ben flicked his stupid blond hair away from his face. “Technically, I was Mr Banana last night, and since you had never bothered to give her your name or show your face, I don’t have to pretend to be anyone. I can just be myself.”

A hollow pit opened up inside Louis’ stomach.

Ben laughed. “You should see your face.”

Louis’ fingers curled into his palms, digging deep. “It’s still lying. You’re not the person she thinks you are.”

“You’re calling me a liar? She thought you were Mr Banana’s friend. You’re lucky I even bothered to play along with your dumb act.” He raised his eyebrows. “I mean I know you struggle to get dates, but that’s kind of creepy, dude.”

Louis groaned and pressed his hands to his face. “I didn’t mean it like that. I would never—it just kind of happened!”

“Uh huh. You think she’d believe that?”

Louis’ head snapped up, his hands dropping to the table.

“Ah, now I’ve got your attention.” Ben’s grin widened.

“What are you getting at?” Louis asked warily.

“We keep up this little game of yours. I’ll be Mr Banana, just as she thinks, and you can keep being the boring old friend from the café. No lies exposed. No need to upset Floria.”

Louis’ left eye twitched. The last thing he wanted was to team up with Ben for anything, especially if it meant lying to Floria. But then he had already been lying, hadn’t he? His stomach curdled like off milk at the thought of being exposed to her now. Too much time had passed since their first meeting at the café. Too many moments shared.

No, she would not understand. She’d think him the creep that Ben had called him.

He closed his eyes in a wince, hating himself even as the words were voiced. “Okay. We’ll do it your way, Ben.”

Ben popped the lollipop into his mouth and grinned. “Then it’s a deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The whole time I was planning/writing this, I was like ‘No, louis, no. Don’t do it!’
> 
> But of course he does


	10. the colour red 2: electric boogaloo

Floria dabbed at the pomegranate juice that had spilled all over her dress—white, of course. This was worse than the great Sauce Debacle. The red stain was not going to come out, not with a few serviettes anyway. The worst part was that the drink had mostly got on her lap.

She sighed and tossed the serviette on the table to join the rest. This was ridiculous. She wasn’t even normally this clumsy.

“I can’t believe this,” she groaned. “Now I’m going to have to walk around everywhere all gross and wet and with this giant stain on me.”

Louis collected the sodden serviettes, a sympathetic expression on his face. He’d been quieter today, almost distant, but now he seemed more like himself. Still a little subdued, yes, but quick to approach and make her feel at ease, even after she’d caused a mess.

“You know …” he said softly. Hesitant.

She glanced up at him, waiting for him to go on.

He bit his lip and rubbed the back of his neck—a nervous habit, she had noticed. “Ah, never mind,” he mumbled. “It would be weird.”

She was out of her chair in a second, grabbing his wrist before he could walk away to the counter. “What?” she said, thumb brushing the bare underside of his wrist. A thoughtless, comfortable gesture.

His gaze darted down to her hand and then back to her face. The little beat that pulsed under her thumb fluttered faster, and he quickly slipped his wrist free and ran his hand through his hair, messing up the curls and coughing as he looked off to the side. “It’s just, um, I was planning to go to the gym after work, see? So I have other clothes … if, you know …”

Her brow creased as she tried to work out what he was saying. Then her eyes lit up. “Oh, you’d let me borrow them?”

A nod.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” His cheeks darkened. “I mean you obviously don’t have to. I know it’s kind of weird, but—”

“Yes! That would be amazing, thank you.”

He blinked.

She smiled and touched his arm. “I really don’t feel like walking around Paris wearing a red-stained dress. This would be doing me a huge favour.”

“Alright then.” He stood up a little straighter. “I’ll just get them. Shout out if any customers come, okay?”

She nodded.

He dashed out back, leaving her to look around the café. Soft colours and quotes scrawled on the walls, intermingled with paintings. A corner of comfy chairs and books piled about as if to create a little reading nook. Only a few tables. Not the kind of café designed for big crowds, but a more intimate space. That was why she liked to come here. And to see Louis, of course.

He returned with the clothes—plain shorts and a grey t-shirt with some kind of science pun about electrons on it—and placed them in her arms. “I know they’re not ideal …”

“They’re perfect. Thank you.” She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.

His eyes widened. “U-um, you’re welcome. You can use the loo to change.”

She smiled, thanked him again, and headed off to the toilet. It was fortunate that she and Louis were the same height. The clothes were indeed not peak fashion, but they were comfortable and not too baggy. Smelt nice and clean, too.

She joined him out front, striking a dramatic pose. “Well? How do I look?”

His smile, always a little lopsided, was quick to form and his eyes crinkled at the corners. “Oh, very nice.”

She laughed and was about to respond when her phone beeped. Frowning, she moved over and checked her messages. “Oh, it’s from Ben,” she said. “He wants to take me to André’s for ice cream tomorrow.”

When Louis didn’t answer, she glanced up to find him staring at her with an odd expression on his face—all furrows and tension. His hands were a fidgety mess, tugging at his apron and twisting the fabric round and round between his fingers. “Floria …”

“Yeah?”

“I … there’s something I—”

The bell tinkled and a couple entered. He looked at her helplessly for a second before he turned to greet the customers. More people soon flowed in, moving to their favourite seats and tables. There was no time to talk now. Not for a while. Then she simply forgot about the matter, more focussed on paying and assuring him that she would return his clothes tomorrow—washed and dried, of course.

“It’s fine,” he said with a smile, even if it was smaller than usual. “Just whenever you can.”

She left to the other regulars wishing her a good day, not quite sure why she felt like she had missed something.


	11. banana splits @ andres

“Chocolate for his hair, and coffee caramel for his warm stare.” André handed Floria the ice cream. “On the house.”

She blinked, staring at the ice cream. It was clearly designed for a single person and reflected nothing at all of Ben, not with his blond hair and blue eyes. “Um, but …”

“What?” Ben said, raising his eyebrows. “He’s giving it to you for free. What’s to question?”

Didn’t he understand? Didn’t he know? If a couple who had real potential went to André’s, they’d be given an ice cream to share, one that reflected who they were and their love. But André seemed under the impression that they weren’t even a couple. He’d given her an ice cream all for herself, had not even glanced at Ben when choosing her flavours.

André turned to Ben. “And for you—”

“I’ll take banana splits, thanks.”

“Of course.”

Floria swallowed, trying to ignore the wriggling and gnawing hollowness that unsettled her stomach. It was just ice cream. It didn’t have to mean anything. But she had always believed in the magic, and none of this was working out how she expected.

She sat woodenly next to Ben on a bench, barely hearing what he was saying. She couldn’t even enjoy the ice cream—more so because it was the perfect blend of flavours. She loved chocolate, caramel and coffee. But it wasn’t Ben.

_Snap out of it_ , she told herself. _This is the guy you fell for. An ice cream doesn’t have to determine your heart._

But she couldn’t let it go. She just couldn’t.

During the first night that Ben had taken her out for dessert, she’d been too caught up in the fact that he’d finally given her his name and let her see his face to think about anything else. It had been exciting, everything she’d wanted. (Helped that he was attractive, too.) But now she had to admit that sometimes it felt like he was a completely different person. Sure, that could come down to him relaxing his over-the-top stage persona, but it was more than that.

It was something in the way he made her feel. Like coming home and finding someone had changed the furniture or moved everything just slightly to the left.

_You’re just being silly_ , she told herself. _Ben is Ben, and right now you are on a date with him, so suck it up and enjoy it._

Floria forced herself to eat the ice cream—delicious, of course—and smiled at all the right times. She could be a good date, even if her heart wasn’t in it right now. Her heart would get there in the end. Tonight would pass, and everything would go back to normal. It had to.


	12. PTA meeting

Maybe it was a masochistic urge that drove Floria back to André’s. She’d finished up a PTA meeting at August’s childcare centre, dropped him off at his grandparents so she could do some much-needed shopping without risking a gigantitan disaster—along with strict instructions that they were not to give August anything sweet. And now she stood outside André’s with a chocolate, coffee-caramel ice cream in her hand.

Not a fluke. Just what André had decreed was the perfect match for her.

“Is something wrong?” André asked.

“No.” She forced a smile. “No, it’s fine.”

She headed along the path, her stomach doing its little squirming act. It was almost a relief when she spotted Louis. There was someone who would make her feel better. No complications, no ruined soulmate magic. Just a friend.

Then she noticed the ice cream in his hand. Orange and green. So distinct. So familiar.

She swallowed. “You’ve been at André’s, too?”

“Orange sorbet for her hair, and a scoop of lime for her sparkling eyes.” He recited the words with a faint upturn of his lip, then paused. Stared. It was like she was a pillar of light and had just illuminated the world for him—the wide-eyed wonder in his gaze, the way his mouth parted in a soft O. The sheer, utter rawness.

Her heart pounded and pounded and pounded.

He tore his gaze away. “Um, anyway.” A cough to clear his throat. “You know how André is. Likes to give riddles and choose flavours for you.”

A choked laugh escaped her lips. “Y-yeah. Yeah, he does.”

And she’d got her own little riddle, hadn’t she?

_“Chocolate for his hair, and coffee caramel for his warm stare.”_

Almost helplessly, she lowered her gaze to her ice cream and then to Louis. Dark brown curls. Brown eyes that were deep in colour until you got close enough and saw the flecks of amber, like a hint of honey mixed in. And his eyes were always warm. Warm and inviting.

_Oh._

The ice cream slipped from her fingers, shattering and spilling all over the ground. Splatters got on her shoes. Louis moved closer in shock, asking if she was okay and fretting that he didn’t have any tissues on him. But all she could do was stare, her heart pounding so fast it was a drum in her ears, pulsing and pulsing.

“I have to go,” she muttered.

“Okay, but—”

“Bye!”

She was practically running, not daring to look back, her heart still pounding. No, no, no. It couldn’t be, could it? She loved Ben. She had to love Ben. Louis was … he was just a friend.

Wasn’t he?


	13. baby august’s radioactive eyes

Louis stared at the chair where Floria normally sat. Empty. Tauntingly so. He glanced at the clock, drummed his fingers on the counter, chewed his lip. Another glance at the clock. The minute hand had barely moved, but it was still too many ticks too late.

No. There was no need to worry. Just because she always came in on the days he worked—and only the days he worked, as he’d discovered—didn’t mean anything. Maybe she was busy. Maybe she’d chosen to spend the day with August. Maybe she was sick, or maybe …

His stomach wriggled unpleasantly. Maybe she’d just decided she wanted a break from him.

He leaned against the counter and ran his hands through his hair. A humourless laughed slipped free of him. Could he blame her if she did? He’d exposed himself like the lovesick fool he was. Over an ice cream, no less.

_Look_ , his expression had said in all its awe-struck sappiness. _We’re soulmates._

“Idiot,” he muttered.

The bell to the café tinkled. He looked up, a hopeful smile spreading across his face, only to be confronted by Ben. Sourness choked his throat like a bite of lemon. The smile vanished. He fixed his crooked glasses on his nose and stood up straighter. “What do you want?”

Ben raised his eyebrows. “Is that how you greet all your customers?”

“Only the bastard ones,” Louis grumbled under his breath.

“What was that?”

“I said would you like to order something?”

Ben pursed his lips. “Not this time. I came to chat.”

“You do realise I’m working.” Louis wiped at a non-existent spot on the counter with his cleaning cloth, just to prove a point.

“And it’s oh-so busy.” Ben waved his hand at the empty café.

“Haven’t you heard of quiet hours?”

“There’s quiet hours and then there’s the kind of quiet you get inside a tomb. How does this place even keep running?”

Louis sighed and met his gaze. “What do you want, Ben?”

Ben dropped all pretence of politeness—or at least his version of it—and leaned on the counter as if he owned it, somehow managing to take up far too much space with his skinny arms. A whiff of strong musk emanated from him. Louis scrunched his nose. Geez, Ben had really overdone it with the cologne today.

“Floria,” Ben said bluntly. “What’s her favourite flower? I was trying to get it out of her the other day, but she teased me about how I’d forgotten already. Which means you”—he poked Louis in the chest—“must know.”

The sour bite of lemon was stronger now, making Louis grit his teeth. “I agreed to let you be the Mr Banana she thought she’d been visiting after shows, Ben. I never said I’d help you more than that.”

Ben leaned closer, raising his eyebrows. “What’s that? You’ll have to correct me if I’m wrong, because it sounds to me like you want me to expose your lies to her.”

A threat. Of course this jerk would stoop to a threat.

Louis imagined picking up the bottle of milk and pouring it all over Ben’s head. Maybe wash off some of that potent cologne while he was at it.

“So, the flower?” Ben prompted. His smile was confident. Expectant. A smug little spider who thought he had his prey all wrapped up in his web. Problem was that Louis didn’t know if he was brave enough to prove him wrong.

Louis didn’t want Floria to think him a creep. He couldn’t bear the thought that she might never speak to him again.

“It’s carnations,” he said, the words like stones on his tongue, cold and heavy. “Pink carnations.”

Ben flashed his teeth in a grin. “See, now that wasn’t so hard.”

Louis turned away and wiped at imaginary specks of grime on the coffee machine, hoping that Ben would get the hint and leave.

“All I need to do now is ask her out to dinner and I’ll be set,” Ben said, oblivious or just content to ignore how much he was no longer welcome. “Though I’ve gotta be honest, I wish she didn’t have the kid. Got those freaky radioactive eyes. Swear it’s gonna death-ray me one of these days.”

“If only,” Louis muttered.

“Huh?”

Louis turned to face him. “I said he’s just a baby. Besides, I happen to think August is cute.”

“You would.”

Louis imagined dumping the coffee machine on his head. It was a very satisfying daydream—much more so than the milk—and helped to block out whatever nonsense Ben kept spouting.

Eventually, Ben left the café and Louis was allowed to get a small moment of peace. Although his emotions were hardly peaceful.

He sighed and placed his head in his hands, dislodging his glasses. This was such a mess. He should have stood up to Ben, should have just told Floria the truth long ago. She deserved better. She had always deserved better.

The bell tinkled its little greeting. He straightened in a rush, glasses half sliding off his nose.

It was her.

“Floria,” he breathed, then mentally slapped himself. This was not the time to turn into a lovesick puddle. “I-I mean hi.”

“Hi.”

They shared a smile, though his was a little wobbly. It was hard to do things as normal: pulling her usual seat out for her, taking her order, being the good café worker and friend that he was meant to be.

His heart drummed so fast.

He should be happy that she’d come.

Had he not fretted that he had put her off? Was this not proof that it would be okay between them? Yet his stomach felt all heavy and upside down, like all the stones that had weighed his tongue were now stacked up inside.

_I can’t do this_ , he realised.

Pretending. Lying. It was all wrong.

“Are you okay, Louis?” she asked. “You look a bit tense.”

He swallowed the rest of the stones stuck in his throat and met her gaze with all the sad bravery that he could muster. “Floria. We need to talk.”


	14. gigantitan

“Floria. We need to talk.”

Before she could respond, the ground trembled and the walls shook. She cringed towards the table. “Is that an earthquake?”

“Lollipop! Lollipop!”

The cry came, loud and demanding. Her heart sunk and her stomach plummeted with it. Not again.

She rushed to the door, Louis following. A giant, purple foot came towards them just as they stepped onto the street. Heart jumping for her throat, she tackled Louis around his middle and sent them both tumbling back inside, one of her hands quickly moving to cradle his head.

_Thunk!_

They hit the floor. She lay on top of him, arm still wrapped around his waist and her hand cushioning the back of his head. Nothing soft about the fall. Her body ached, and she was sure his did too, yet he blinked up at her and his cheeks darkened. Her own face felt very warm.

“Thanks,” he said breathlessly.

She tried not to get distracted by how close they were—close enough to feel his breath on her lips and her heart stutter to a new rhythm. “D-don’t mention it.”

She scrambled off him, pushing her hair out of her face. He got up more slowly and moved with her to the front window. August had continued down the street like a lumbering terror in search of lollipops. It wasn’t that he tried to cause damage when he got akumatised, but he was just a baby and often didn’t look where he was walking. The cars around his feet were like play ones, and the buildings nothing more than toy blocks. How was he supposed to comprehend beyond that?

“I’m sorry,” Louis said quietly.

She glanced at him in question.

“It must be hard for you to see him like this. This is the fourth time he’s been akumatised, right?”

“Fifth.” She stared out the window, watching her son pass out of view as Ladybug and Chat Noir swooped onto the scene. “I can’t even go out and help him. I’ll just be in the way.”

Louis touched her shoulder—a simple, innocent gesture to offer comfort. But his hand slipped away too soon. Before she could consider her actions, she was burying her face into his neck and holding him tight.

“Floria …”

His voice was low, hesitant. Just as hesitant as the hands that brushed her back, not quite hugging her.

“This is okay, right?” she asked in a muffled voice. “We’re friends …”

His heart pounded—she could _feel_ it—and the pulsing drum that echoed its song in her own chest was hardly any steadier. No matter her words, this was not how friends acted. This was not how their hearts should communicate. She knew that. Had known it from the moment she’d pieced that he was the answer to André’s riddle.

She closed her eyes, fingers curling into his shirt. “It’s okay, right?”

“I …” His cheek brushed her hair, tickling the strands against her skin.

Maybe he could sense that this was quickly becoming less and less about comfort. Maybe he felt bad because Ben was his friend and she was supposed to like Ben. That had been an established fact. Yet here she stood, wishing that Louis would hold her. Wishing that he would draw her deeper into his scent: clean, warm and woodsy, with hints of sage and bergamot all intermingled with the clinging tones of coffee.

She was so confused.

His arms came around her quickly, enfolding her. Holding her. Then he released her and stepped back. “Ladybug and Chat Noir shouldn’t be too long. Do you want to go meet them at least?”

She met his gaze and smiled, because of course this was how he would respond. How, deep down, she needed him to respond right now. “Sure.”


	15. rednana date night

Floria ran her fingers along the row of dresses and skirts, pausing on a purple dress with a low sweetheart neckline and flared skirt. She pulled it out of the wardrobe, holding it up to her body and posing in front of the mirror. A smile. A little turn and swish.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she huffed, and threw the dress to join the rest of the pile of clothes at the end of her bed. “He’d probably take one look and think I’m trying too hard.”

She flopped onto the bed, arms spread out on either side of her like aeroplane wings that couldn’t imagine what it meant to fly. Louis hadn’t even explicitly stated it was a date. He’d just asked if they could meet somewhere other than the café—not either of their houses, but a place of her choosing where they wouldn’t be interrupted. He’d said there was something important he had to tell her. Something that could only be done in private. He hadn’t wanted to say it over text.

That had to mean something, right? And since she’d suggested a small bistro and they were going to be alone, that was kind of like a date.

She bit her lip, staring up at the ceiling. Her heart still raced when she thought of the way he had held her—a heartbeat of warmth and exhilaration. A heartbeat that she wished had been two, three, even a hundred more if it meant staying in that moment when all his hesitation had vanished and his yearning stripped bare.

_What about Ben?_ her conscience prickled.

Her lips twisted. Yes, that was a question she had to consider. But it was getting harder and harder to remember the excitement that Ben made her feel. Things had been different for a while. _He_ had been different. Besides, it wasn’t like they were boyfriend and girlfriend. They’d just gone on a few dates.

It wasn’t wrong to go on a date with Louis. It wasn’t.

She stood up and moved back to the wardrobe. No point wasting this chance while August was asleep. Time to get serious and choose an outfit before the babysitter arrived.

oOo

The bistro wasn’t too noisy. Music played, but not overpowering, and the general hum of voices was more of an enclosing background noise, helping to give privacy. Floria almost wished everything was louder. Maybe then it would drown out the words she had just heard. Drown out everything.

“What?” she said shakily.

Louis lowered his gaze. “I’m sorry.”

Her eyes prickled and burned. There was a vise tightening on her ribs, cutting off her airways. She pressed her hand to her chest—covered by the purple dress, the daring one she hadn’t known if she should wear. “Please tell me this is a joke.”

“It’s not.”

Breathe. She had to breathe.

“You.” The word trembled on her tongue. “You were the guy. You were the one who helped me in the restaurant, the one who I visited after shows.”

He nodded.

A lump formed in her throat. No matter how much she swallowed, it wouldn’t go away. It just got bigger, burning, constricting everything. “All this time.” Tears slipped down her cheeks, black-tinged from smudged mascara. “All this time you just—you lied to me.”

“No! Well, yes, but …” His eyes sought hers, pleading. “I know it was wrong and stupid of me, but I didn’t mean it like that, I swear.”

“Like what?”

He flinched at her sharp tone.

“Didn’t mean it like it what, Louis? Because I really don’t know how else I’m supposed to interpret you letting me believe you were two separate people.”

He stared back at his hands, shoulders hunched. “I … I just don’t normally tell people that I’m also Mr Banana and—”

“I liked you!” Her fingers curled into her palms, fresh tears squeezing free. “I told you about the meetings I had with Mr Banana. Told you when I’d got embarrassed, when I was happy because I thought he’d flirted with me.” She hiccupped on a humourless laugh. “I bet you were laughing at me all this time.”

“No, no, I swear—”

“Then why? Why did you do it? Do you know how stupid I feel right now?”

He closed his eyes, unable to hold her gaze. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Floria. I should have told you sooner.”

“You shouldn’t have lied to me at all!”

A harsh silence.

“And then there’s Ben,” she said, though it was hard to get the words out. It was like they were choking her, clawing their way up her throat, sticking to her like something foul and unwanted. “You really just let him trick me.”

Louis winced, crumbling before her like a battered wall that couldn’t defend any longer. “I’m sorry. I truly am. I’d take it all back if I could.”

“Well, you can’t.”

They stared at each other, a helpless exchange. Regret was a shroud clinging to his shoulders. So much regret. But it wasn’t enough. It couldn’t be.

He had hurt her. He had lied to her. No amount of friendship and attraction could change that. If anything, it just made it worse. A vicious twist to the heart. A crushing blow that made her chin quiver as sobs tried to break free, made her eyes prickle and burn even more.

She sniffed. Gracelessly. Pathetically.

No. She didn’t want to fall apart in front of him. Not here. Not like this. She wanted to be strong. But it was so hard to ignore the way she had dolled herself up, thinking— _hoping_ —that this was a date. It was hard to ignore the knowledge of all she’d wanted, even cherished in her heart because of course he would be good to her. Louis, her charming friend. The man who’d made her feel so safe and happy.

She stood up abruptly. “I’m going home.”

He nodded, not meeting her gaze.

“And, Louis?” Tears sparkled in her eyes and her voice was hoarse. “I don’t want to see you again.”


	16. alternate universe

Louis blinked at the pigeon near his shoe. It pecked around for whatever scraps it could find, though it didn’t appear to be having much success. There was nothing in his pockets he could give to assist on this quest either, not unless the pigeon was keen on trying the taste of keys or his wallet. (Plus, it was illegal to feed the pigeons in Paris. Louis wasn’t quite as brave as Mr Ramier.)

Sighing, he leaned against the bench, letting his head fall back so he was staring at the sky. Grey as usual. If he was the more lyrical type, he could probably make some kind of analogy or poem out of that, but all that came to his head was, “Much grey. Heart hurts. Why did I come outside?”

Yeah. He wasn’t going to be winning any poetry competitions.

Another sigh escaped his lips. That was when Mr Ramier’s face appeared before his vision, smiling at him from under the rim of a grey hat.

“That sounded like a sigh of heartache,” Mr Ramier said.

Louis yelped and flung out an arm, almost hitting Mr Ramier in the chest. He leapt off the bench and spun around, glasses askew and his heart pounding. “You—you almost gave me a heart attack!”

“Sorry.” Mr Ramier held up his hands in an appeasing gesture. “I didn’t mean to give you a fright.”

Louis took deep breaths and then offered a wobbly smile. “No, it’s fine. I just—wow, I really wasn’t expecting you to appear like that.”

His heart was still racing like a wheezy old man desperate for the next rest.

Mr Ramier nodded to the bench. “Mind if I join you?”

“Oh, uh, sure.”

Though why Mr Ramier wanted to was beyond him. Louis looked like a slug that had crawled out of bed and thrown on clothes—greasy hair, bloodshot eyes, old clothes that smelt a bit funky if you got too close. It was hardly inviting. If Floria could see him, she would no doubt be disgusted.

A bigger sigh. Floria …

“Would you like to talk about it?” Mr Ramier asked.

“Huh?”

“About what happened between you and the person you loved.”

“Oh, um …” Louis fidgeted with a loose thread on his T-shirt. “Kind of no point. It’s my fault she won’t see me now.”

“That doesn’t mean it hurts less.”

More pigeons had come to join the first, waddling and cooing around their feet. Louis wondered if he would be happier as a pigeon. Maybe in an alternate universe, he even was. He’d coo about just like this bunch, eating bugs and scraps and living on a building ledge. Maybe his romance life wouldn’t be so cursed either. He was sure Pigeon Louis would be able to pull off the little bow and pirouette ritual. (And the food regurgitation one, which sounded nasty to him, but apparently female pigeons liked that sort of thing.)

Or maybe Pigeon Louis would ruin his chances at love, too. Maybe he’d never find a mate for life, and he’d be the only pigeon all alone on his pigeon ledge. Perhaps he could never master the dazzling pigeon pirouette. Or maybe he’d be a fool and try to woo a pigeon while wearing a tiny paper bag mask, and then once she met him outside the mask, he wouldn’t know how to tell her that he was the pigeon whose dancing and bows she had loved …

He let out a heavy sigh. Yeah, that sounded more like him.

Mr Ramier patted his shoulder. “Sounds to me like you’re still very much in love with this woman.”

Louis closed his eyes, his heart aching with raw, fresh wounds at just the thought of Floria. Her smile, her laugh, the way her face lit up whenever she saw him. “I am.” A soft, exhausted laugh. “I love her so much.”

Like a fool. Like a helpless, self-punishing fool. Her name was imprinted into his heart now. He didn’t know how he was ever going to move on.

“You could always try talking to her,” Mr Ramier suggested.

Louis shook his head. “I can’t. She’d never agree to see me.”

“What about an accidental meeting?” Philippe, the figure skating guy said, practically sliding onto the bench on Louis’ other side. “We could set it up. Have her bump”—he made finger quote marks—"into you at the ice-skating rink.”

Louis leaned back from him. “Er, I really don’t think that’s a good idea. Also, were you eavesdropping on us? Where did you even come from?”

Philippe ignored these questions. “You sure you don’t want to at least try it? Ice skating and romance go well together.”

“Not everything can be solved with ice skating,” Mr Ramier said with a frown.

“Not everything can be solved with pigeons either.”

Red spilled across Mr Ramier’s cheeks. “Don’t bring the pigeons into this.”

“No, really,” Louis said quickly, holding up his hands like a wall between them. “Let’s not bring the pigeons into this.”

Everyone knew how touchy Mr Ramier got over his pigeons. Louis did not want a Mr Pigeon resurgence.

Philippe shrugged. “Fine, but what are you planning to do to woo your lost love, Mr Brokenhearted?”

“Nothing.” Louis slumped back against the bench. “I’m going to do nothing.”

“But you love her,” Philippe said.

“And I hurt her.” Louis closed his eyes, trying to hold back the prickle of tears. “I don’t blame her for not wanting to see me again. I deserve it.”

And he would never disrespect her by forcing his presence on her again. He would respect her wish.

Mr Ramier and Philippe were both quiet, apparently unsure of how to respond to this. Louis didn’t mind. He still didn’t know why they were bothering with him, and it wasn’t so bad to sit in silence with the pigeons cooing around them.

“It’ll get easier, you know,” Mr Ramier said softly. “It always does.”

“And there’s always more ice skates in the rink,” Philippe chimed in. “You can find a new perfect pair.”

Louis’ lips twitched. Was that supposed to be some kind of ice-skating version of the old “more fish in the sea” adage? Still, it was sweet that they were trying to cheer him up.

“Thanks,” he murmured. “I’ll take your word for it.”


	17. hair dye

“I think I’ll dye my hair blonde,” Floria declared into her phone. She was seated on the floor of her apartment with August, boxes stacked all around like a Tetris stage about to go out of control.

Diane’s groan came through the other end of the phone line. “You are not dying your hair blonde.”

“I think it’ll look good on me.”

“Do you even remember the promise you asked me to make?”

Floria fought back a pout. “That you weren’t allowed to let me dye my hair.”

“And why?”

“Because my red hair will never come back the same, and I’ll cry.”

“Which means?”

“Alright, alright.” Floria leaned over to move one of the toy cars, making August giggle and chase after it. “I’m not going to dye my hair.”

Diane sighed with all the dramatic flair only she could pull off. Melodrama actors would be proud. “Why are you still hung up on that guy anyway? It’s been ages.”

“I—what? I’m not—this isn’t about a guy.”

“Oh, yeah? You just felt like dying your hair ‘cause it would be fun, huh? Never mind you did the same thing when the last guy broke your heart, and the one before that, and—”

“Alright, I get it.” Floria hugged her knee to her chest, pink warming her cheeks. “So it’s about Louis. You don’t need to rub it in.”

“I’ll rub it in as much as I have to. You fall in love way too easily, Floria. A guy just has to smile at you and you’re already signing your heart away.”

“That’s not true! I—”

August toddled over and held the purple car to her. “Vroom, vroom.”

She plastered on a smile. “You want me to make it go vroom, vroom?”

August waved the car. “Vroom, vroom!”

She bit her lip to hold back laughter. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“What?” Diane said.

“Sorry, I’ve got to go.” Floria shifted to a crouch for better vroom-vroom abilities. “The moving truck and my parents will be here soon anyway.”

“Okay, but—”

“Bye!”

Floria clicked the button to end the call and shoved her phone back in her pocket. “Alright, let’s make this car go the vroomiest vroom it can!”

oOo

Floria flopped onto her bed with a contented smile. August was asleep, everything was mostly unpacked, and her new apartment was everything she could have dreamed. Better light, more space, and it was closer to work. This was going to be perfect.

“Things are going to look up,” she said under her breath. “They have to.”

She’d heard her neighbours were super nice as well, and the one on her left was around her age. That could only be a bonus. Maybe she could make a new friend. Either way, she was not going to let a broken heart keep her down. No more crying. No more looking at bananas or coffee and sad-sighing because it reminded her of him.

Just no more. Floria was a new woman—even if she still had the red hair—and she was going to prove it.

oOo

It wasn’t until the next evening that Floria was able to find time to try her luck with meeting the neighbour on her left, the one her own age. The older couple on the right had already said their floor was going to put on a little late afternoon snack for her and August, but she still wanted to introduce herself before then if she could. It seemed the neighbourly thing to do.

She cradled August against her hip and knocked on the door. There was a pause, then the sound of shuffling feet, and then the door swung open. She blinked. Louis stared back at her.

“F-Floria?”

All the colour drained from her cheeks. Her expression was as frozen as a wax statue’s.

“Lou-Lou!” August chanted, waving his chubby arms up and down.

Louis gave an awkward wave, more of a reflex, and stared at her like a very lost, very uncertain puppy. “Why—what are you—”

Floria turned abruptly and marched back inside her apartment, slamming the door. She placed August down, then grabbed her phone off the counter and dialled Diane.

“What’s up?” Diane greeted.

“I need to find a new apartment.”

“What? Floria, you just moved in.”

“He’s here!” Floria hissed.

“Who?”

“Louis! He’s my neighbour!”

Diane burst out laughing. “I’m sorry, but that’s hilarious.”

“What do I do?”

“I don’t know, ignore him? Threaten him with a pointy stick to keep his distance? You can’t move anyway. That’s the best apartment you’re gonna find for a long, long time. It was a fluke you even got that one.”

Floria nibbled on her thumbnail. There was no way she could do this. No way.

“Anyway, I’m trying to cook right now and I really need to focus,” Diane said. “We can talk later, ‘kay?”

“No, wait—”

The line went dead.

Floria let out a little squeak-scream and slumped against the kitchen counter, banging her head against it in slow, dramatic thumps. August watched with mild curiosity, then waved his arms up and down again.

“Lou-Lou?”

Floria squeak-screamed again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my gosh and they were neighbours


	18. outfit swap

The childcare centre was noisy. Floria stared at the list of costumes for the birthday party, along with what she and August had been assigned. Her eye twitched like a glitchy video struggling to play. She moved swiftly to one of the teachers, a friendly woman named Rose with a cloud of black curls for hair.

“Um.” Floria cleared her throat. “I’m sorry.”

Rose turned to face her, a smile curving her lips. “Yes?”

“Why—I mean, I was just looking at the list you gave me and, um, why have August and I been assigned the Mr Banana duo?”

Rose’s smile widened. “Oh, August chose it.”

Floria’s eye twitched again. “You sure? I mean he’s so young. Maybe he meant Chat Noir and Ladybug.”

“Oh no. It was very clear what he wanted. He kept saying ‘Nana! Nana!’ and waving his arms about. You know how he gets.”

Another eye twitch. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

Floria really regretted all those times she had watched Mr Banana shows with August. It had clearly had a terrible influence on him.

Rose started to walk away.

“W-wait,” Floria dashed after her. “I’m sure August will be just as happy being the Chat Noir and Ladybug duo or—”

“Ah, but all the pairs have already been taken, and I’m afraid we can’t do swaps. I’m sorry.”

Floria bit her lip. “Well, what happens if I can’t find Mr Banana costumes in time? I mean—”

“Oh, don’t worry.” Rose laughed freely, her brown eyes crinkling. “We’re going to provide you with the costumes. Lucky for us, Timmy’s parents decided to buy them to make his first birthday extra special. You’re just the right size for the Mr Banana suit as well. No adjustments needed!”

Floria let out a strained laugh, the pitiful sound of one who knew that defeat awaited at every corner and all that was left was to surrender with what dignity she had left. “Great. That’s … great.”

It seemed, short of pretending to be sick and ruining August’s hope of attending his playmate’s birthday, she would have to be Mr Banana.

oOo

Floria stared at the banana costume in all its yellow, grinning glory. And stared. And stared.

“There is no way I can carry that on the metro with me,” she said in horror. It wouldn’t even fold up into August’s pram.

Why on earth had Timmy’s parents tried to be so authentic? Why couldn’t they have got something more bendable or just got everyone to wear simple masks? Why did it have to be this?

She sighed and glanced at August, who was happily building a block tower near her feet. “I see I have nursed a snake in my bosom. Not only do you betray me by choosing the Mr Banana duo, but you bring curses of humiliation upon me as well.”

August grinned and dropped his block, then held his arms out and made clutching motions. “Hugs?”

She scooped him up into her arms and kissed the top of his head. “The things I do for you. You’re lucky you’re cute.”

August snuggled into her and made a contented sound. Yes, she had definitely nursed a snake in her bosom.

oOo

Floria took a deep breath and, with August secured in his pram, stepped out of the apartment. As if on cue, Louis opened the door to his own apartment. He took one look at her—a vision in banana—and let out a huge yelp, jumping into a pose as if to imitate an Egyptian hieroglyphic.

Heat slapped across her face like a fiery pancake. “This cannot be happening,” she muttered.

“W-what the—why—”

“Lou-Lou!”

Louis’ gaze drifted down to August. Baby, banana-dressed August with his little face peeping out of a hole where Mr Banana’s nose and mouth should have been. Then Louis’ gaze snapped back to her. “Floria?”

She groaned. “Yes. Who else would it be?”

Louis tilted his head. “Well, you’re …”

“I know. I’m dressed like Mr Banana.”

Why did the universe hate her? Why was her luck always so bad?

Louis bit his lip, though it didn’t hide the way the corners of his mouth kept trying to twitch upwards or the smile gleaming in his eyes. Ugh, the nerve of him. He was the one who dressed like a banana for his work. (She wisely chose not to reflect on how she had first fallen for him when he was nothing more to her than a man in a banana suit.)

“I didn’t realise you were still a fan,” he said in a far too innocent tone.

Her ears burned with her spreading blush. “It wasn’t my choice, okay! I just have to wear this for a birthday party and—and I don’t even know why I’m explaining this to you. In case you’ve forgotten, we don’t talk now!”

She locked her door and pushed the pram towards the elevator. Of course, he joined her; there was only one elevator for the building. The doors shut, enclosing them in the small space together. It was awkward. They were forced to stand close, the pram angled horizontally in front so they could all fit. Worse, now she was painfully aware of how good he smelt. The clinging scent of coffee hadn’t got on him yet, and his light, woodsy cologne was like a siren to her senses, taunting her with memories of racing pulses and being close enough to feel his heart beat.

“Couldn’t you have taken a different elevator?” she muttered.

“Seriously?”

She met his exasperated stare and for once was glad for the ridiculous costume since it meant he couldn’t see her expression. It probably looked as petulant as she felt.

“If you really detest my company that much,” he said, facing the doors, “ _you_ could have waited.”

“I got to the elevator first.”

August babbled something and dropped his stuffed hippo. Floria and Louis both stared at it. Without any hesitation, Louis picked the toy up and handed it to August.

“Well, this was my building first,” he said.

Her jaw dropped. “I didn’t even know you lived here!”

“Clearly. You’ve only been treating me like the leper of the fifth floor since you arrived.”

She opened and closed her mouth, unable to believe they were having this conversation. “You know exactly why I don’t want to be around you.”

The elevator stopped and the doors opened just as August managed to drop Hippo again. Once more, Louis picked it up and gave it to him with a warm smile, then pushed the button to keep the doors open as she got the pram out.

“I haven’t forgotten, Floria,” he said as he followed her out, “and I am sorry. I am. But can’t we be adults about this?”

She rounded on him like the snap of an elastic band pulled too tight and released. “Are you calling me childish?”

“What? No! Of course not.”

“Then what?”

He groaned and pressed his hands to his cheeks, dragging his fingers down. “This isn’t coming out how I intended.”

The hippo once more landed on the ground. Almost absently, he retrieved it and dusted off the dirt that had got on its blue nose. He placed it back in August’s reaching hands, earning a delighted smile from her son. It was this—the simple, instinctive way that Louis went about restoring the toy—that made Floria wait and listen even though her pride demanded she leave.

“What?” she said tiredly. “Just say it.”

“Look …”

Silence. His nose scrunched a little.

“What? I’m giving you a chance to talk, so talk.”

He rubbed his neck. “It’s just … it’s really hard to have a serious conversation with you when you look like Mr Banana. I don’t know how you did it.”

She rolled her eyes and wheeled the pram the other way. “I’m leaving.”

“Wait, wait. Please.”

She obliged, though she kept her back to him.

“What I wanted to say is that I understand why you don’t want to talk to me. I get it. That’s why I left you alone. But we’re neighbours now, Floria. You didn’t ask for it, I didn’t ask for it, but this is how it is. Can’t we just …”

She risked a glance over her shoulder, meeting his warm brown eyes.

Something shifted in his expression and he lowered his gaze. “You know what, you’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll leave you alone now.”

He left quickly, shoulders hunched. A part of her almost wanted to call him back. That frightened her.

That was why she had to let him keep walking.


	19. the great bananas foster v banana cream pie debate

Louis lay face-down on the floor like a defeated starfish. His mouth was too dry, his head throbbing. Scrunched up tissues lay discarded all around. His glasses peeked out from under a pile in a self-sacrificing trap, ready to ensnare.

_Buzz._

There went the sign that he had a new message. He barely twitched, content to stay in his pose and keep his face mushed into the carpet.

_Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz …_

Great. Now it was ringing.

He groaned and blindly felt around until his fingers made contact with his phone. A few more fumbles allowed him to hold it near his face and squint blearily at the screen through puffy, red-rimmed eyes. Ugh, why did all the letters have to look more like smears of colour?

Whatever. The fact this person called at all after he hadn’t responded suggested it was either his dad or it was his self-proclaimed manager, Henri.

“Finally, you answer!”

Ah, Henri then.

“What?” Louis said hoarsely.

“Why do you sound like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’ve been lying on the floor and crying for hours while listening to Britney Spears’ ‘Everytime’ on repeat.”

Louis scrunched his nose. So specific. Was he really that predictable?

“Is there a point to this phone call?” he muttered, wiping at the salty tear tracks crusted to his cheeks.

“So, you have been crying. Rough times with the cute neighbour?”

Louis sighed and flopped back against the floor. “What do you want, Henri?”

“You know what you need? A date. You’ve been so hung up on this Florence chick—”

“It’s Floria, and don’t call her a chick.”

“What should I call her then? Dudette? Bronette? La—”

“Just call her by her name, idiot.” Louis pinched the bridge of his nose. At this point, he wasn’t sure if his worsening headache was from crying too much or having to deal with Henri.

“Whatever. Anyway, I’ve got a potential gig for you, but I’m hungry and can’t be bothered discussing this over the phone, so put on something decent and be ready to go in ten.”

Louis pulled a face. “What? No way. I’m tired. I—”

“Don’t make me break down your door.”

Louis sat up, brow furrowing. “You’re outside, aren’t you?”

“Yip. And if you do make me come up there, I’m totally gonna knock on Florinda’s door.”

“It’s _Floria_. And don’t you dare, you—”

The line went dead.

Muttering a string of curses, intermingled with a few “I hate yous”, Louis heaved himself to his feet and took a single step.

_Snap_.

He froze, heart sinking. The tissues had dulled the attack on his barefoot, but he didn’t need to look to know he’d just stepped on his glasses. He picked them up, or at least the two pieces. His glasses were more like mangled monocles now.

“Perfect,” he muttered.

oOo

“Love the new look,” Henri greeted as Louis got in the car. He was a big man with a wispy black moustache and an almost permanent smile.

“Shut up and drive.”

Henri spread his hands in surrender and started the car, though he continued to smile. It wasn’t hard to see why. Louis had sellotaped his glasses together in the middle, which was one thing, but the frames were even wonkier now.

“Didn’t feel like wearing contacts?” Henri asked in an innocent tone.

Splotches of colour warmed Louis’ cheeks. “I lost them.”

“Ah.”

Louis turned the music up so it was too loud for conversation and leaned back against his seat, closing his eyes.

oOo

Jaunty music was playing from the speakers in the restaurant. Voices hummed, cutlery and glasses clinked, and all in all people seemed to be having a great old time. Except Louis. He weaved his way through the tables, tired and grumpy and looking exactly as he felt: a heartbroken mess. All he wanted was to be back on his lounge floor and crying because the woman he loved was never going to speak to him again.

Plus, this music was far too cheerful.

“Bananas foster is a thousand times better,” Henri said, his body angled towards the table next to theirs where a blonde lady was sitting.

“Please, everyone knows that banana cream pie is the superior dessert.”

Louis paused, frowning at the two. “Er, did I miss something?”

All he’d done was go to the loo. He should have known that Henri couldn’t be left unsupervised.

“This woman—”

“Diane,” she said, raising her chin.

“Right. Well, Diane thinks that banana cream pie is a better dessert than bananas foster. Obviously, she’s wrong.”

She laughed. “Uh, no. I’m a hundred percent right, and you’d know it too if you had any taste.”

Henri’s jaw dropped and he yanked Louis closer by the arm. “You tell her. Tell her that bananas foster is better.”

“I really don’t ca—” Louis’ eyes widened as he stared at the woman now approaching. His heart beat faster like broken, fluttering wings, painful even as they took flight.

It was her. Waves of red hair. Green eyes that could light up like starlight and snatch the breath from him.

Floria.

Why? Why was she always there? He couldn’t even come to a restaurant without seeing her.

She froze when she noticed him. It was awkward. It was awful. He wanted to run or maybe just duck under the table and hide. She wasn’t supposed to see him like this. His glasses were sellotaped together, and he was wearing rumpled clothes that he’d picked up off his bedroom floor, and his eyes were probably still bloodshot and puffy, and he couldn’t remember if he’d fixed up his hair, and—

“Uh, why are you just standing there?” Diane said.

Louis blinked, then blinked again when he realised she wasn’t talking to him. Somehow, this was worse. Of course he had been placed at the table right next to Floria’s. Why would the universe decide any differently?

“Louis.” Henri jabbed him in the stomach. “I’m still waiting for you to defend bananas foster’s honour. Stop gawking at that woman and—”

“Wait, _Louis_?” Diane looked him up and down, her nose wrinkling. “Don’t tell me this was the guy.”

Floria went pink. “Um …”

“Oh, honey. And I thought it was bad when he wore the banana costume.”

Feeling snapped back into Louis’ body and he rounded on Henri, leaning in close and snatching at his shirt. “We have to go,” he hissed under his breath.

“But—”

“Don’t care. Move.”

He had half-dragged Henri out of his chair before Henri seemed able to put aside dessert debates enough to piece together the conversation.

“Oh, you’re Florella,” Henri said with a laugh and nod. “Now I get it.”

Louis groaned. Would it be terrible if he just bashed his own head against the table? Odd, sure, but would it really be so terrible if it put him out of his misery?

“You got him good, you know,” Henri said conversationally to her. “This idiot still cries his heart out over you. I keep telling him he should—”

Louis clamped his hand over Henri’s mouth. “That’s great, Henri. Now please _shut up_.” He shot a panicked glance at Floria. “I’m so sorry about him. Just, um, just ignore everything he says. It’s all nonsense and, uh … yeah.” He swallowed, his mouth too dry and his face too hot. “We’re just gonna leave now. You can have the tableraunt to enjoy. I mean restaurant. We’ll just—we’ll go somewhere else.”

“But I like this one,” Henri complained.

“Shut up,” Louis hissed, desperately trying to drag him away. “You don’t get to talk now.”

Once he had got a safe distance, he glanced back towards her table and immediately regretted it as he met Floria’s gaze. She looked concerned, perhaps even contemplating whether she should follow. But of course that couldn’t be right. She hated him.

He shook his head and kept walking. He must have imagined the expression.


	20. alternate truth tv show

Louis sprawled on the sofa, one leg dangling over the side as he enjoyed the cool air blasting from the aircon. A rerun of Alternative Truth was playing on the television. Fortunately, it was not the one where he had been asked to act as a judge. (The whole thing had been rigged behind-the-scenes to let that museum curator’s kid win anyway, and sometimes it got tiring to act like an idiot on-stage. Pyramids created by aliens? As if.)

Crying came from Floria’s apartment. August’s crying, naturally. The poor little guy had been going on and off for a while now in a fussy, unsettled way. It didn’t really bother Louis since this wasn’t norm, but he hoped that Floria was okay. He couldn’t help but worry. Even if they didn’t talk now, even if he kept his distance out of respect—and maybe some mortification ever since Henri had gone and blurted all that stuff—he still loved her. He wanted her to be happy.

The crying got louder. Then her front door banged shut and there was a sudden knock at his door—sharp and a little too fast as far as knocks went, as if the person wanted to hurry up and get it out of the way.

He frowned. No way. That couldn’t be Floria, could it?

Curious, he shuffled over in his summer slippers and opened the door. Floria stood outside. Her hair was pulled up in a topknot and she was dressed in what looked like her pyjamas: loose shorts with unicorns on them and a blue singlet that was sticking to her from sweat. She carried a wailing August against her hip.

Louis blinked. “Um …”

“Please tell me that your aircon is working,” she said, taking a step towards him.

His heart did a little skip. “Y-yeah.”

“Look, I know this is awkward, but can I come in?”

He blinked again. “Um …”

“It’s just that my aircon stopped working, and there’s a heatwave, and it’s too late to get someone to come fix it now, and I don’t want to make August—”

“No, of course.” He moved aside so she could enter. “Come in.”

She didn’t hesitate and was soon standing beneath his aircon and closing her eyes in bliss. “Isn’t this better, August?” she murmured. “You’ll be okay now, baby.”

Louis didn’t miss the strain in her voice, like a violin string tuned too tight, ready to snap. She sounded exhausted and close to tears. He bit his lip, not sure if he should approach or say anything. It felt like one wrong move would send her running again.

“Shh, shh,” she said, rubbing August’s back. “C’mon, baby. Can’t you feel the nice cool air? See? It’s not so hot now, is it?”

The crying did not lessen.

“I know you’re tired,” she said, her voice breaking a little, “but you won’t be able to sleep if you keep crying.”

Louis closed his eyes. To hell with it. There was no way he could stand here and listen to this without trying to help.

He approached and held out his hands. “Here, let me take him.”

Her gaze snapped to him. She made no move to hand August over.

“Floria.” His voice was gentle but tinged with exasperation, like she was a wounded animal caught in a trap and he just wanted her to sit still for one moment so he could assist her. “Please. You look like you need a break.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but then closed it again. All the fight in her seemed to tumble away like a heavy mantle dropped free off her shoulders, easing the tension of her posture and the tightness lingering around her eyes. “Thanks,” she said softly.

Their fingers brushed as she passed August to him. Without hesitation, he cradled August to his chest and gently patted his back, making the odd soothing noise or murmuring little things to help him calm down. Comforting a crying baby was nothing new to Louis; he’d had plenty of practice with his nephews and nieces.

Floria sat on the sofa and rubbed her temples. “I’m sorry I barged in like this.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.” She let out a tired laugh. “After everything … I’m sure you wish I wasn’t here.”

Louis swallowed. “That’s not true.”

Her gaze darted to his. He continued to soothe August, his heart quickening. Maybe it was a mistake to have been so honest, but the words were out now. He couldn’t take them back.

“I don’t mind helping,” he offered with a little shrug. “But I … I’m sorry it had to be me.” He glanced away, hoping she wouldn’t see the pain seeping into his expression. “I know it must have been hard for you to come here … to me.”

She said nothing.

The silence dragged, broken only by August’s hiccupping wails and the sound of applause on the television.

He bit his lip. “Um, anyway, do you want a drink? I’ve got coffee, though maybe that’s not so good right now. Uhh, got some herbal teas. I could make one iced for you if you wanted. And, uh, there’s water.”

“Water is fine.”

“Great.” He moved to the kitchen area, then paused as he remembered his arms were full of crying baby.

She smiled and stood up. “Why don’t you tell me where the cups are?”

Warmth touched his cheeks. “That might be better.”

oOo

The cries had stopped. August was curled up against Louis, clutching his t-shirt with one little hand as if seeking an anchor for support. Louis didn’t mind. His only concern was that it was late and Floria still hadn’t decided on a plan. She was stressing over whether to contact her parents or a friend so she could stay with them, but then that would mean they’d either have to come all the way to this side of the city to pick her up, or she’d have to go back into the heat and deal with public transport to travel to them. Neither option appealed to her.

“I’m tired, I feel gross,” she muttered, tugging at her sweaty singlet, “and I just want to—”

“Please don’t misinterpret this.”

Her gaze darted to him. “What?”

He adjusted his hold on August, thinking it safer to focus his attention on the baby. “Well, maybe you should just grab what you need for the night and bring it here.”

“W-what?”

“We’re neighbours. I have a guest room. It’s the simplest solution.”

“But—”

“Floria.” He dared to meet her gaze. Held it with no blush, no flinch. “You _are_ tired. August is tired. And yes, I know I was an idiot—”

“No, you were an arsehole.”

“Fine, an arsehole,” he said, yet he didn’t shy away in shame. Not this time. Nothing could give him courage like the simple desire of wanting to help, especially when she was the one in need of it. “But you still know me. We were friends. Can’t we just … pretend for one night that’s still true?”

Something shifted in her expression and she lowered her gaze. His heart thumped against his ribs. He bit his lip, wondering if she was going to reject him. But then her fingers curled into her palms and she let out an audible breath.

“Okay,” she said softly. “One night we’ll pretend.”


	21. astronomical vibes

Floria turned off the shower, sighing in contentment at the feeling of being clean. She changed into a fresh pair of pyjamas, then left the bathroom and slipped her feet into the guest slippers that Louis had provided for her—breathable ones, of course, since it was summer. It was kind of cute how seriously he’d taken her lack of slippers. Apparently, it was a family thing, passed down by his Serbian grandmother. Báka Malina would have been horrified if he’d not given her something to wear in his home.

 _He is sweet_ , she had to admit to herself. That trait had not been an act.

And it seemed he was fond of house plants. They were everywhere in the apartment: little boxes bursting with herbs lining the kitchen windowsill, leafy ones tucked away into pots in the corners or in nooks on bookshelves to add a splash of life. Even in the bathroom, he had a few more leafy ones gathered on a shelf.

Her lips curved. She’d never expected him to be the type to want house plants. Then again, they had only been starting to grow truly close before …

She stilled, her smile falling. Right. Before she’d found out about all of his lies and cut ties with him.

_You can’t run tonight, though, can you?_

Well, maybe that wasn’t true. There had been other options—there always were. But it was like the universe kept pushing them together, wearing down her excuses until here she was in his apartment, wearing his guest slippers and about to spend the night.

A little laugh escaped her. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

Diane would have told her to leave. Maybe that would have been the smart thing to do, too, but Floria knew she wouldn’t. Deep down, she’d already forgiven him the moment she’d knocked on his door. 

oOo

Floria paused in the doorway to the guest room. The portable cot they’d brought over from her apartment had been set up, just as Louis had promised. But that wasn’t what made her eyes widen. No, it was because August had woken while she was in the shower, and now Louis rocked him to sleep in his arms, singing softly.

One corner of her lips curved into a tiny, unbidden smile. It was ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’ that he was singing—low, his voice smooth like rich velvet. The kind of voice you’d expect to hear in an old jazz bar. She could almost taste the smoky atmosphere, imagine the spotlight focussed only on him as he played the piano. 

“You’re good,” she said.

Louis broke off, startled. “Oh, um, thanks.”

“I didn’t know you could sing like that.”

He bit his lip and glanced down at August, still rocking him gently. “Well, I’m hardly going to sing solos at the café or when I’m dressed as a banana man.”

“I dunno. It would make a statement if you did it as Mr Banana.”

He snorted, then quickly suppressed the sound, shooting her a sheepish but warning look. “I think he’s just dozed off. Let’s not wake him again.”

She nodded and came to stand beside him. “Maybe you should keep singing. Help him get into that deep sleep.”

“With you here?”

She arched her eyebrow. “Why not?”

He shifted on his feet, ducking his head. “It’s kind of embarrassing.”

She fought back a laugh. “Are you telling me that you will put on a banana suit and do ridiculous stunts and make bad jokes on television for all of Paris to see, but you’re too embarrassed to sing a single song in front of me?”

His crooked smile surfaced. “That’s different.”

“And why’s that?”

_Because you’re different._

He didn’t need to say the words for her to hear them. They were right there in the soft warmth in his eyes, a shy whisper that was no less piercing for how it slipped through her guard.

She moistened her suddenly dry lips. Her pulse stuttered like some clumsy thing, and her heart started to play a familiar drumming beat, one she had tried so hard to forget. Too fast. Too intense. Too everything.

“I guess it just is different,” he said softly.

“Yeah.” Her voice came out as a croak. “Maybe it is.”

oOo

They ended up watching a movie together on the sofa, knees angled towards each other, their hands resting side by side as if to let their pinkies touch. So close yet never close enough. She barely knew what was happening on the screen. Dialogue passed in a blur and she couldn’t remember the characters’ names. But every breath Louis took was as vivid as her own. Every shift of his limbs was like an electric charge, slipping along her skin with a shiver of hyperawareness.

“Are you tired?” he asked, perhaps noticing that she wasn’t paying much attention to the movie. “You can go to bed if you want. I’ll just—”

“No. I—let’s keep watching.”

Their eyes met, and her heart drummed in that thunderous but sweet song, urging to say more. To do more.

“Okay,” he said.

He faced the television. It was with great effort that she did the same.

Their pinkies moved a centimetre closer.

oOo

She woke nestled against him on the sofa. The both of them were slumped over like two threads trying to intertwine. His back was to her, and her face was pressed to his neck, letting her inhale his scent with every breath. Somehow, their hands had found each other—not so much holding as it was her hand resting loosely on his. The fabric of his t-shirt was soft against her skin.

Gossamer wings stirred in her stomach. It was almost ridiculous. She was an adult. She’d been through all of this before—even had the baby to prove it—yet here she was feeling all warm and fluttery because she was spooning Louis on his sofa. (She had to admit, though, when she’d imagined this moment back when she’d known him only as Mr Banana, she’d thought she’d be the little spoon.)

He made a sleepy sound and closed his fingers around her hand, drawing it closer to him so her thumb brushed bare skin where his shirt had ridden up. Her heart stuttered. She swallowed.

“Louis,” she whispered.

He didn’t stir.

Carefully, she eased herself free and shuffled towards the armrest on the other side so she could get off the sofa. The light was on, so that made it easy to avoid planting her hand on him or getting tripped up by his legs. Still, once she was on her feet, she couldn’t resist looking at him as he lay there, his cheek mushed slightly into the fabric.

She’d always found it creepy in books and movies when someone watched their love interest sleep. Now, she thought she could understand. It was as if she was a moth and he was a dancing flame. He still wore his glasses—just as sellotaped and wonky as ever—and she sunk into a crouch and removed them as gently as she could. He didn’t twitch. That was good, except now she was closer. Almost helplessly, her gaze traced his features: the defined curve of his jaw, the thick brows and wide nose.

The fullness of his lips.

She shook her head and stood up, tearing her gaze away. No way. Nuh uh. She was not going to be that person.

She placed his glasses on the coffee table and escaped to the guest room.


	22. transcendental vibes (there’s a difference trust me)

“Lou-Lou.”

There was a tug on Louis’ leg, then another. A smile made its lazy way across his lips. “I see someone is feeling better this morning.”

“Lou-Lou! Lou-Lou!”

Louis sat up, indulging in a quick stretch to ease the stiffness out of his muscles. He put on his glasses and scooped August onto his lap. “It’s actually Louis, you know,” he said in a mock-serious tone. “I didn’t want to tell you earlier, but I feel it’s time we correct this.”

August grinned.

“Is that your only response, hmm?” Louis booped him on the nose. “I bet you sneak people into giving you all the treats with that smile.”

“He does,” Floria said.

Louis stilled, a much softer smile forming on his lips. He knew she’d be nearby. “And what about—” He broke off as he met her gaze, his heart skip-stuttering on its rhythm. She leaned against the wall, watching them, but her expression was difficult to read, her posture too stiff. It was as if her limbs had become metal and trapped her in place.

His throat went dry.

One night, they’d agreed. One night to pretend to be friends again. Was that time up now?

He swallowed and cleared his throat. “Uh, I mean, did you sleep well?”

Politeness had always been his default when he was uncertain. It was easier to guard with a smile.

She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, and a soft laugh edged with an emotion he couldn’t place slipped free of her lips. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I did.”

Silence.

August babbled something and wriggled in his hold. Unable to stand the tension, Louis put August down and stood up. “Breakfast.”

She blinked.

“Do you want some?”

Best to get this out of the way. She would say no and take August and leave. It was clear in the rigid, awkward way she stood there and avoided his gaze. But oh how he wished she would say yes. It was an ache in his bones, a yearning that had been stitched to his soul and it didn’t want to come undone. He loved her. Stupid, masochistic, hopeless. Even when he tried to guard his heart, it all seemed so pointless. He had already opened his ribs up and thrown it at her feet.

She fidgeted with the hem of her top. “Okay.”

His jaw dropped. “What?”

“Okay. Breakfast sounds good.”

The words struggled to click into place, but when they did, it was like something delicate and warm spread through his chest—a touch of summer glow and the sweetest relief. He couldn’t stop his smile. “Alright then,” he said. “I’ll go prepare that.”

oOo

They sat opposite each other at the table. Louis nibbled on a croissant and sipped at his coffee. She had August on her lap to stop him from touching things without her there to keep an eye on him, though it also meant he kept going for the sliced fruit on her plate. August, as she told him many times, had already had his breakfast. (Not to mention he threw the bit of banana and strawberry she did relent enough to give him on the floor.)

“Can I ask you something?” he said, shooting her a glance from under his lashes.

She nodded.

“Before, you seemed kind of … tense.”

Pink formed in splotchy patches on her cheeks. She focussed all of her attention on the rest of her croissant. “Did I?”

“Yeah, you did.” He licked his dry lips. “And last night you—”

Her head jerked up. “What?”

His gaze slid away, staring as if fascinated at the crumbs on his plate. “Um …”

“Wait, you weren’t actually awake, were you?”

His brow furrowed. “Huh?”

“Nothing.” She smiled and took a big, slurpy sip of her drink. “This coffee is great.”

“Er, thanks.”

Silence settled. The creases on his brow deepened as he puzzled over her words. Had something happened last night?

“Anyway,” she said, placing her coffee down. “You were saying?”

“Right.” He frowned at his cup, tracing his finger around the rim. “Well, I know you only agreed to be my friend again for one night, and I’m sure you probably wished you could have stayed with anyone else, but here you are having breakfast with me.” He swallowed, shooting her another quick glance under his lashes. “So, I just wondered … does this mean we’re okay?”

She went quiet, her expression pensive. “Yeah,” she said softly. “Yeah, we’re okay, Louis.”

“R-really?”

A nod. “I’d like to be your friend again.”

He closed his eyes, wet prickles forming at the corners. The warmth was back in his chest, spreading all the way to his toes, enfolding him like an embrace. They were okay. Even after he’d given up hope of ever getting more than self-punishing moments with her, she had forgiven him.

“I’m glad,” he said in a croaky voice.

She tilted her head. “Are … are you crying?”

He ducked his head to the side and slid his finger up under his glasses, swiping at the little tears. “No.”

“You are, aren’t you?”

But she didn’t laugh. She just smiled in that way that had always snatched his breath and raised her cup of coffee towards him. “Well then, to being friends again?”

His heart fluttered like giddy wings. Holding her gaze, he gently clinked his cup against hers. “To being friends.”

oOo

The repairman couldn’t come to fix her air conditioning—at least not for another few days. Louis wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it was not for Floria to shyly tug on a strand of her hair and ask if she could keep staying with him.

“Just because it’s practical,” she added with wide eyes, waving her hands in a frantic manner. “I mean you’re my neighbour and I can pop next door whenever I need something. But of course if you don’t want me to, I can call my parents or Diane or—”

“Floria.” His eyes crinkled into a smile. “You and August are welcome to stay as long as you need.”

Heck, he’d let them stay with him forever if she wanted. Probably sign all of his belongings to her while he was at it.

She let out a small sigh of relief and touched his arm. “Thank you.”

oOo

Neither of them had work that day. Since there also wasn’t much to do during a heatwave except stay inside and make the most of the aircon, a random show was put on to watch and Louis stretched out on one side of the sofa while Floria took up residence on the other side, her legs tucked up underneath her. August played with his toys on the floor in front of them. Occasionally, he toddled over to show off a slobber-blessed toy or place it on their laps. A great honour indeed.

“Louis,” Floria said, as they waited for the next episode to load.

“Mm?”

“Why don’t you ever fix your glasses?”

He was startled into a laugh. “What?”

“They’ve been broken for ages. I just—I don’t understand why you don’t get them fixed or buy a new pair.”

“Maybe I like them broken.”

“Not possible.”

His mouth curved. “I just don’t.”

“What?”

“That’s the reason.” He shrugged and met her gaze. “Just seems like too much of a hassle to go to the shop half the time. Or I forget.”

She pressed her palm to her face. “How can you forget that your glasses are broken?”

“I don’t know,” he said, laughing slightly. “I just do. They still work well enough, and I’ve got other things to occupy my mind, you know.”

She shifted to her knees and leaned over, reaching for his glasses. Then she paused. “May I?”

He nodded, twisting around so that he was fully facing her, one leg resting on the sofa. She took the black-framed glasses and examined them. He couldn’t make out much of her expression now. Everything became soft blurs and colours forming the shape of a woman. Waves of orange. Pale skin. The rich green of her top, loose and baring her shoulders. It was all there yet lacking the precious detail.

She put the glasses on. “You wear these every day?” she exclaimed, looking around. “They sit so crooked.”

He laughed and removed them from her with gentle hands. “Lucky you don’t have to wear them then.”

The world came back into focus as he set the wonky, sellotaped frames in place, allowing him to see the way she scrunched her nose, as well as the little freckles that sprinkled her skin like a dusting of cinnamon.

“I don’t know if I should be impressed or appalled,” she said, not making any move to put more space between them.

“Oh, definitely appalled. There’s nothing impressive about me wearing these glasses. Trust me, I tell myself at least four times a week that I need to do something about them, yet here I am.”

She snorted and settled back down on the sofa, patting at his thigh to make him move his leg and allow her to lean back properly. It was all so easy and natural. It was like there had never been a time when “they” had just been a memory to grieve. If anything, they felt even closer now.

But then that was how it had always been for them. They just clicked. Sure, they’d had a few fumbling starts, but there was no denying that she fit into his life as naturally as the cherry on a parfait. It felt wrong when she wasn’t there. Incomplete. Of course he was going to welcome her in with no reservation now that she’d agreed to be his friend again.

The problem was that he also loved her.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, conscious of the way a few strands of her hair tickled his arm. So, so close. Her scent teased him like a breeze of warmth and flowers—soft notes of vanilla and musk interwoven into a breath of orange blossom, jasmine and iris. His heart thumped and thumped at the thought of being close enough to kiss its source on her skin, lips grazing her pulse, fingers tangling in her hair.

He swallowed and tore his gaze away.

Once, on the day she’d cut all ties, she’d told him that she liked him. He didn’t know if that was still true—not in a romantic sense anyway. He didn’t want to ruin this. Lose her. So he fixed his attention on the television and listened to its canned laughter. He hoped she never guessed how much he wanted to hold her in his arms again and confess all that thrummed like dizzying thunder inside him.


	23. shrek au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just want to preface this by saying that i did ask to be restrained. i really did

“Well?” Henri said with a grin as they walked through the mall. “Finally got those new glasses. Don’t you feel like a whole new man?”

Louis raised his eyebrow and held up the mountain of bags he’d somehow got stuck holding. “I feel like a pack mule. One who’s about to quit.”

“Don’t fuss.” Henri tapped him on the arm. “You work out, don’t you? Time to prove those hours were worth it. Plus, you know I pulled a muscle yesterday.”

Louis rolled his eyes and slung a handful of the bags over his shoulder. “See, this is why I’m still working part-time at a café. Can’t believe I thought for a moment this would be a proper meeting. Clearly need a new manager.”

“Perish the thought!”

“Ye old verse? Really?”

“But the betrayal, Louis! The betrayal! I got you that Mr Banana job with my own sweat and tears!”

“Right.” Louis’ mouth twitched. “The job where no one knows my face because I look like a giant banana.”

“But it’s a very recognisable banana.”

Louis snorted. “And the pay is—”

Screams tore through the air. His heart jumped for his throat and he tensed, glancing around the shops and at the crowds of people. It was a probably an akuma causing havoc, but there was always a chance that a real criminal was out there.

“Akuma! Akuma!”

Or not. He relaxed, or at least as much as he could relax with an unknown akuma around. Ladybug and Chat Noir always took care of them, but some really weird stuff happened when magic got involved. Once, kissing zombies had even tried to take over Paris. It was best to keep your distance.

_Crack!_

A part of the floor broke apart like a smashed web. Louis flinched and dropped the shopping bags, wrapping his arms over his head for protection as chunks of debris sprayed into the air and clunked all around.

“Louis!” a voice boomed.

His heart dropped to his stomach. So much for keeping his distance. An angry voice calling his name just after some public damage? Yeah, that was probably the akuma.

The dust cloud settled, revealing the akuma standing before the hole with one hand on his hip and wearing some kind of … well, it looked like he’d got lost on his way to the Renaissance faire. Black tights and boots, a red and gold-trimmed tunic with poofy sleeves, a long red cape that draped over his right arm. He even had a little matching hat on his head. Combined with the dramatic makeup that gave him an almost cartoonish appearance, it certainly made a statement. Though he did seem familiar …

Louis’ eyes widened. “Wait, _Ben_?”

“I am not Ben,” Ben-who-was-definitely-Ben said, pointing his nose to the air. “I am Rewriter, and today I have come to claim what should be mine!” He flipped his cape over his shoulder and revealed—

A pen? Louis squinted at the object in his hand. Yeah, that was definitely a pen. It had a round top like a lollipop and swirled in red and gold. That wasn’t very Renaissance of him. Still, it was probably best not to underestimate the pen.

Henri rubbed his chin. “You know, he reminds me of someone.”

“Yeah, it’s Ben,” Louis said, and picked up three of the bulging shopping bags and tossed them at Rewriter’s face. He grabbed Henri by the arm. “Run!”

Henri moved like he was a rusted old machine that needed a lot more oil to get going. Or maybe just a sloth who had decided speed was overrated and he’d rather chill here and observe the akuma.

“Nah, I know that’s Ben,” Henri said. “I mean he reminds me of someone else. I think it’s the outfit, especially the hat.”

“Who cares! Just run!”

“Hold on, it’ll come to me. I can almost see the hat. It’s right on the tip of my tongue …”

“I don’t care about the hat!”

Louis was close to tearing his hair out. Did Henri want them to get caught?

Rewriter flipped right over them, landing with a swish of his cape to block their path and flashing his perfect teeth. “Did you really think you could escape me?”

“A-ha!” Henri pressed his fist to his palm. “I got it! He looks like Lord Forkling from _Shrek_.”

Louis blinked. Rewriter blinked.

“But was his name Forkling?” Henri mused, tilting his head. “Or was it Farthing? Flannel?”

“It’s Farquaad!” Rewriter snapped. “Lord Farquaad! How do you not know that?”

“Right, right,” Henri said with a nod, and then grinned. “You look like him.”

Rewriter growled. “You talk too much, pest.” He started scribbling furiously in the air with his pen—faster than humanly possible. The glowing words hummed as they formed in fancy cursive:

_Once upon a time, there was a pigeon named Henri._

A flash of red, a crackling pop, and then Henri disappeared and a little grey pigeon stood in his place. Louis’ jaw dropped.

“There,” Rewriter said with a smirk. “Now you can’t interrupt.”

“You!” Henri cried, hopping about in distress, his feathery wings flapping. “What have you done to me?”

Rewriter pursed his lips like he’d just bitten into the world’s sourest lemon. “Ugh. It still talks.”

“Okay,” Louis said with a gulp, and snatched Henri up into his arms. “Time to run.”

“Hold it!”

Louis didn’t. He ran and ran, grateful that while Rewriter could write incredibly fast, Hawkmoth had not given him super speed. Most of the people in the mall had fled or were hiding in shops. There was a clear path to the escalators. If Louis was lucky, he might actually survive this chase until Ladybug and Chat Noir showed up. (Though he did wish that Henri would shut up; all of his dramatic whining and urges to go faster were distracting.)

“You won’t get away!” Rewriter cried.

Louis dashed onto the escalator. The wrong one. In his panic, he hadn’t noticed which belt was going up or down. His foot slipped, Henri was sent flying out of his hands, and it was only thanks to his natural agility that he managed to leap back off the belt before he went splat on his face. That would not have been pretty.

“You chucked me!” Henri exclaimed, staggering to his pigeon feet from where he’d landed near a mannequin. “I can’t believe you chucked me!”

“I didn’t mean—”

A hand grabbed the back of Louis’ shirt. “Got you.”

Louis cursed. He twisted and thrashed like a fish caught on a hook, desperate to break free of the superhuman grip. Sadly, his luck seemed to have run out.

“Now then,” Rewriter said, “it’s time to change your story.”

“My story?” Louis gave a good, firm yank on his shirt. No budge. “What are you on about?”

Rewriter dragged him over to a wall and spun him around so they were facing each other. He shifted his grip to Louis’ collar, pinning Louis in place so his feet were left dangling. “I don’t like it that you got everything,” Rewriter hissed. “The job, the girl. You were always just an awkward guy with crooked teeth who couldn’t get a date, yet _I’m_ the substitute Mr Banana. Me! You even won Floria back in the end—never mind she should have just thought you a weirdo creep after everything got exposed.”

Louis blinked, too offended to respond. Couldn’t Rewriter at least have left the crooked teeth out of it?

“Well,” Rewriter said, a smile forming on his lips, “things will be different now.”

Oh no. Louis had a bad feeling about this.

“I’ll let you keep being Mr Banana. In fact, let’s make it permanent, shall we?”

Definite bad feeling. Unfortunately, the glowing words were already being scribbled into the air.

_Once upon a time, there was a banana man—_

“Pigeon bomb!” Henri cried from above. And got swatted away as easily as a fly. He fell to the floor in a graceless lump of feathers, dazed.

Rewriter paused to stare at Henri. “I wondered why he was being so silent. Guess the idiot never learnt that announcing your sneak attack isn’t the smartest strategy.”

Louis repressed a sigh. Yip, that was typical Henri. Always had to be dramatic.

Rewriter finished writing the glowing words. There was another flash of light, another crackling pop, and then Louis’ body changed in a blink. He still had two human legs, he still had two human arms, but his skin was yellow and his body and head felt weird—just clunky and stuck. He couldn’t even move his neck. (Did he even have a neck?)

“Let’s see if anyone wants to be around you now,” Rewriter said with a laugh, and released him.

Louis slumped to the floor, his legs wobbly as he tried to adjust to the sensations and weirdness of his new body. It was like being in the Mr Banana suit, except a hundred times worse. He had a horrible feeling that he was an actual humanoid banana.

Suddenly, a butterfly outline shimmered around Rewriter’s eyes. “I know, I know!” Rewriter grumbled, apparently to Hawkmoth. “I’ll get you the miraculous, but I want Floria first!”

“F-Floria?” Louis struggled to sit up. “What are you planning to do to her?”

Rewriter flashed those stupid, perfect teeth. “Why, make her fall in love with me, just as she was always meant to.” He laughed maniacally and left with a swish of his cape.

oOo

“Well, this sucks,” Henri said, waddling over and looking as morose as a pigeon could. “I’m a talking bird now, and you’re a giant banana.”

Louis stood up, gritting his teeth. “No. I can’t just sit here and mope. I won’t let him get away with this!”

“Hate to break it to you, but there’s probably nothing you can do. Best leave it to Ladybug and Chat—”

“There he is!” Lieutenant Raincomprix charged towards them, blowing his whistle. A group of police officers followed. “Arrest that banana!”

Louis’ jaw dropped. “Wait, _what_? Why me?”

“Ha!” Lieutenant Raincomprix said with open scorn. “You dare to ask that after wilfully damaging public property—”

“But I didn’t!”

“—bringing a pigeon inside the premises—”

“He was a human like five minutes ago!”

“It’s true,” Henri said. “I was.”

“— _and_ ,” Lieutenant Raincomprix continued as if he had not heard them, “for public indecency.”

Louis spluttered many times until he finally managed to get words out. “Excuse me?”

Lieutenant Raincomprix gestured at his banana body. “You’re not wearing any clothes.”

“I’m—I’m a banana! What am I even supposed to be wearing?”

“Some little shorts might help,” one of the police officers said. “Maybe red ones, with a nice stripe down the side.”

“Or a scarf,” another added. “A scarf might do it.”

Louis slapped his palm to his forehead. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing.”

“Regardless,” Lieutenant Raincomprix said, “you, sir, have committed crimes. Arrest him!”

The police charged. Louis’ eyes widened in panic. Then someone wearing a tacky Ladybug costume, complete with spotted mask, came sweeping down through the air on one of the hanging banners, leg extended, foot primed for a beautiful kick. Their boot connected with one of the policeman’s back, knocking them all over like a perfect bowling strike, one toppling figure after the other.

The tacky Ladybug landed in front of Louis and grinned. “This way, friend! Bring the pigeon, too.”

Louis blinked. “What … what just happened?”

“Dunno,” Henri said, “but this Ladybug just saved us, so we might as well follow.”

oOo

The tacky Ladybug turned out to be Philippe. He led them outside to where Mr Ramier and a very nice car were waiting.

“Quickly,” Mr Ramier said, holding the car door open.

Louis raised his eyebrows at the driver, who merely grunted at him in what might have been a hello. Wasn’t that Adrien Agreste’s bodyguard? Where was the kid?

“Uh, Louis?” Henri prompted.

Right. This was supposed to be an escape from the people who had suddenly decided he was a criminal.

He clambered inside, settling into a seat that seemed designed for ultimate comfort. (Probably won multiple awards. Buy it now and you’ll get this fancy cleaning set for free.) Meanwhile, Mr Ramier picked Henri up with respectful tenderness.

“I’m very sorry, my good sir,” Mr Ramier said, “but I’m going to have to put you in this bag.” He unearthed a cloth, drawstring bag from his suit pocket.

Henri’s pigeon eyes bulged. “Whoa, whoa, no one said anything about stuffing me into a bag! Aren’t you supposed to be a friend to pigeons or something?”

“Indeed, but Adrien Agreste is allergic to feathers, and I promised Gerard that we wouldn’t let any get lost in the car.”

The driver, or Gerard, gave Henri a long, narrowed look. _Get in the bag_ , it seemed to say, _or find your own escape car_.

Louis sighed. “Just get in the bag, Henri.”

Henri got in the bag.

That decided, Mr Ramier quickly sat in the car, now holding a bag full of Henri, and then pulled the car door shut.

“Wait,” Louis said, glancing out the window at Philippe. “Aren’t you coming, too?”

“I have to get back to my family, but you’ll be okay from here.” Philippe winked and dashed off just as dramatically as he had appeared. Maybe it was a Philippe thing.

oOo

“So, you’re telling me that Rewriter somehow persuaded the police and everyone else who tried to stop him that I was the one who created that big hole,” Louis said as they drove along the streets.

“That’s right,” Mr Ramier said.

“And Philippe saw what was going on and called you.”

“Yes.”

“And you decided to team up and come on a rescue mission to save us, except you can’t drive, so you requested help from Gerard.”

Mr Ramier smiled. “Gerard is a good friend. We play chess together on his nights off.”

Louis blinked and tried to imagine how Gerard even held a chess piece with those giant hands of his. “Er, right. But why go through all of this effort? I mean I’m grateful, don’t get me wrong, but once Chat Noir and Ladybug defeat Rewriter, everything will go back to normal anyway, right?”

“That’s true,” Mr Ramier said, “but there have been no sightings of either of them yet. Besides, I couldn’t leave you or this fine pigeon to be unjustly incarcerated, not even for a short time.”

Louis doubted the police would have bothered to imprison Henri, but he was touched all the same. “Well, thanks. I don’t think we would have got away from the police without you all.”

“You are very welcome.”

A throat cleared from within the bag. “He does realise I’m not really a pigeon, right? I mean I can talk.”

“All pigeons talk, my friend,” Mr Ramier said sagely.

Neither Henri nor Louis had anything to say to that.

oOo

Louis had wanted to call Floria to warn her of what was going on, but his phone had vanished since he’d turned into a banana. He hadn’t learnt her number either (he had trouble with memorising numbers, okay? It didn’t mean he loved her less), so he couldn’t borrow Mr Ramier’s either.

As such, they were now on their way to his apartment building to get to her before Rewriter did. Henri thought it was a risk since the police were after Louis, but Mr Ramier and Gerard thought the gesture romantic and were willing to fight for love if it came to that. (Judging by their excitement when they said this, Louis was beginning to believe that these two, along with Philippe, had just really wanted to live out a day of being vigilante heroes.)

“Don’t be bemused, it’s just the news!”

Nadja’s voice popped up from Gerard’s phone, which was secured to the dashboard.

“That’s Rewriter with her!” Louis said, leaning forward to get a better look at the screen. “It looks like he’s near the Eiffel Tower. But why there? Floria wouldn’t be around there …”

“And we’re here with one of Paris’s favourite heroes,” Nadja said, a bright smile on her face.

Wait, favourite hero? Since when? This guy was clearly someone who had been akumatised. You just had to look at his horrible outfit and makeup.

“Rewriter, do you have any words for us in this troubling time?” Nadja said, holding the microphone towards him.

Rewriter flashed his perfect teeth. “As a matter of fact, I do.” He held up his strange, lollipop pen. “Make sure you don’t miss any of this, camera guy.”

Glowing words started to form on the screen for all to see. A wriggling, sinking sensation twisted Louis’ stomach. The pen. The glowing words. It reminded him of how the moment he’d read the cursed words that had been written for him, he’d—

“Wait, turn it off!” he cried. “Turn it off!”

Gerard obeyed without question.

“What’s the problem?” Henri asked from inside the bag. “Can I come out yet?”

“Rewriter,” Louis said, grabbing his peel-covered head. “He’s rewriting what people think. That’s why the policemen thought I was the one who’d created that damage in the mall. That’s why Nadja thinks he’s a hero. But he can’t just make people believe it, he—”

“Has to get them to read it,” Mr Ramier said, catching on.

Louis nodded grimly. “And he just broadcasted something all over Paris. I doubt it was good either.”

Henri said something very rude indeed.

“Well, what should we do now?” Mr Ramier asked. “It looks like Ladybug and Chat Noir still haven’t shown up.”

That was strange. Normally, they were so quick to get on the job.

Louis bit his thumbnail in thought, then shook his head. “We keep looking for Floria. I doubt we can help Paris, but I won’t let that smug jerk with his perfect teeth charm her into loving him.”

She had already been tricked once. He wasn’t going to let it happen a second time.

oOo

Louis puffed for breath and knocked frantically on Floria’s door. “Come on, come on,” he muttered.

Footsteps shuffled closer from the other side. Yes! She was home!

She opened the door, holding August against her hip. Then she blinked. Blinked again.

“Nana!” August said happily.

“Hey, Florida,” Henri said, offering a little pigeon wave.

Louis face-palmed. “For the last time, it’s _Floria_.”

Her eyes widened like round, green coins. “Wait, Louis? Is that you?”

“Uh, yeah. Long story. Listen, we need to go.”

“But you’re a—”

“Real banana. I know.”

He grabbed her arm and led her out of the apartment. Thank goodness she didn’t seem to have watched the news. “Henri,” he said, “go let Mr Ramier and Gerard know we found her.”

“On it!”

Henri took off in a flutter of grey. Louis and Floria headed for the elevator, but they’d barely taken a few steps before a whipping, whirring noise came from above. Wind swished at their hair—or at least Floria and August’s. Louis just had his peel, and he wasn’t sure if that made him bald or not. He didn’t want to dig too deep into the technicalities of banana man anatomy.

“What’s a helicopter doing here?” Floria said, peering up at the sky.

“Copter! Copter!” August chanted.

Louis’ gut did the wriggly, sinking thing again. “This can’t be good.”

Ropes dropped down from the helicopter, and people in black began to slide down them, angling right for the building. Rewriter followed like a garish splash of red and gold.

“Oh yeah,” Louis said, his heart now joining the wriggles in his gut like a stone sinking into a swamp. “We’re totally screwed.”

Floria rounded on him. “Screwed? What are you—”

“Ma’am, step away from the banana!”

They all froze as five of the people in black dropped onto the fifth-floor balcony—three behind and two on the other side to form a pincer attack. The black-garbed people had batons in hand and looked primed to attack. The rest landed on the ground and were guarding the entrance to the building just in case Louis and the others should try to escape. Finally, Rewriter leapt onto the balcony like some gymnast aiming for ten points, his blessed-by-the-gods smile fixed in place. He even raised his arms as he landed.

Floria took one look at Rewriter and let out a huge huff. “Alright, what the fu—”

“Lollipop!”

“—is going on?” she demanded.

August squirmed in her arms and made grabby motions at Rewriter’s pen. “Lollipop! Lollipop!”

“I will explain all, Floria,” Rewriter said with a smirk. He began to write in the air in his looping, cursive scrawl.

“No!” Louis cried. “Floria, don’t—”

A hand clamped over his mouth, muffling the rest of his words. He struggled and managed to get the person who’d grabbed him down, but then another two took their place. A hand was also promptly slapped over his mouth. Louis had no choice but to watch as the words formed in horrible, glowing red.

_Once upon a time, a woman named Floria was desperately in love with Rewriter. She had never cared for that ugly, villainous banana man._

Floria frowned. There was no crackling pop, no flash of light, but Rewriter was still smirking, so he seemed to think it had worked. Maybe all the light show didn’t happen if he wasn’t transforming a person’s body.

“There,” Rewriter said, holding out his hand to her. “You love only me, do you not?”

She glanced from the words, to Louis, and then to Rewriter.

Louis’ heart thumped and thumped. Some superhero help would be nice right about now. He’d even take Philippe swinging in again. Instead, Floria let out a dreamy sigh and approached Rewriter.

“Of course,” she said, taking his hand and pressing close to him, though she was careful not to lose her grip on August. “I love only you. Why would I ever love some monstrous banana man?” Then she leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek.

Rewriter laughed maniacally. “Yes! I’ve done it! I’ve won!” He flashed a smile at Louis. “Now all I have to do is wait for Ladybug and—”

“Lollipop!”

August snatched the pen from his hand. Everything seemed to slow down, every eye watching as the pen was raised with determination and shoved into August’s slobbery mouth.

“My pen!” Rewriter wailed. “Give it back, you—”

Floria kneed him in the groin, then shoved him so hard he toppled on his butt. “Don’t you dare touch my son, you creep!”

Louis’ jaw dropped.

She took the pen from August and flung it over the balcony—straight into Henri’s waiting talons. “Keep that away from Rewriter!”

Henri cackled. “You got it, Fiona!”

Rewriter struggled to one knee. “What are you doing just standing there?” he wheezed at his lackies. “Stop that pigeon! Get my pen back!”

They saluted as one—though the two holding Louis did not let him go—and moved into position to attack Henri. A bright light came out of nowhere, reflecting the sun on their eyes. The lackeys winced. Then a long bar of silver shot down to block their path.

“Sorry, fellas,” Chat Noir said, swinging down the pole and kicking two of the lackeys down. “Black is kind of my thing. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Ladybug zipped onto the balcony, landing on Rewriter’s back so that he was shoved face-first into the floor. There was a red and black spotted mirror in her hand. “Oh, I don’t know about that,” she said with a smile. “Looks like this fight is already over, don’t you think?”

Chat Noir grinned, even as he knocked down the last two who had been restraining Louis. That counted all five in total. “Seems like it, my la— _achoo_!” He groaned as a grey feather fluttered past his face. “Mr Pigeon’s not around here too, is he?”

“Not in the way you’re thinking,” Henri said, and dropped the pen in Chat Noir’s hand. “You’re welcome.”

Chat Noir shrugged, apparently not going to question why there was a talking pigeon or a banana man. He broke the pen in half and a purple-black butterfly emerged, shimmering like an oozing thing of malice. Ladybug snatched the akuma up in her yoyo. As she purified it, Rewriter fizzled back into Ben—normal clothes, no cartoonish makeup, but still just as much of a jerk as ever judging by his scowl.

Sadly, Louis was still a banana.

“You are gonna change us back too, right?” Henri asked. “Flying is fun and all, but I don’t wanna be a pigeon forever.”

Ladybug smiled and tossed the mirror into the air. “Miraculous ladybug!”

Light burst from the mirror and everything began to return to normal. Louis and Henri instantly became human, the lackies snapped out of whatever control they’d been under (and dazedly wondered what they were doing there), and Louis was sure the magic would have fixed everything else as well. That was the power of the miracle cure.

Chat Noir and Ladybug smiled at each other as if having a private conversation and then both held their fist out to everyone. “Pound it?” they said.

Floria, Louis, and Henri exchanged a surprised glance.

“You know,” Louis said, “there’s actually two other people who I think need to be here for this.”

Or three, but unless Philippe felt like dramatically appearing again, Louis didn’t know how that was going to happen.

“Who?” Ladybug asked.

Louis gestured over the balcony.

Chat Noir peered over the railing and laughed when he saw Gerard and Mr Ramier waving up at them. “Gimme a sec,” he said.

One hop down and a baton ride back up, and they were all gathered on the fifth floor.

“Alright,” Chat Noir said, holding his fist out, “let’s try that again. Ready?”

“Pound it!” everyone said in unison, except August who gave a delayed tap to the admittedly messy group fist bump and a cheerful cry of “Lollipop!” instead.

Well, at least he had the spirit.

oOo

“You know,” Louis said, once everyone had gone their separate ways and he was left alone with Floria and August outside their apartments. “There’s something still confusing me.”

“What?” she said.

“How come Rewriter’s power didn’t work on you? Everyone else had to believe or become whatever he wrote.”

She laughed. “Oh, I’m dyslexic. It all just looked like nonsense to me.”

Louis’ mouth formed a small O. He would have fallen in love with her then and there if he wasn’t already head over heels. Her quick-thinking had spared Ladybug and Chat Noir a lot of trouble. Spared everyone, in fact. She hadn’t even hesitated to use the situation to her advantage.

“You’re amazing, you know that,” he said warmly.

Pink dusted her cheeks. “I wouldn’t say I did anything that special. I’m just bad at reading.”

“You singlehandedly disarmed an akuma.”

“Technically, August did.”

“True, but you still brought Rewriter down.”

“Well—”

A smile tugged at his lips. “Just take the compliment, Floria.”

She laughed, though her blush spread like a rosy glow across her cheeks. “Fine. Thank you. I accept your compliment. But just for the record, I think you’re pretty amazing, too.”

“Me? What did I do except get turned into a banana?”

Her lips curved. “Haven’t you noticed? People rally around you.”

Creases formed on his brow.

She poked him gently in the chest. “I guess they just like you.”

He blinked and watched as she entered her apartment, leaving the door open in an invitation that he could follow. His heart beat faster. Oh yeah, he was hopelessly in love with this woman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I’m not big on exact interpretations when it comes to inspired-by AUs (and obviously it was never gonna work to go full _Shrek_ since this story is all connected), which is why I decided to have fun with this one. Some of the stuff is really obvious—Louis as Shrek, Henri as Donkey, ben as Farquaad, Floria as … uh, I forgot her name. whatever. (Edit: thank you to kathy for giving me the genius, genius idea to have Henri call floria fiona)
> 
> But yeah, this is how I chose to interpret it. I know it’s chaotic and silly, but i hope you enjoyed it fhjhka
> 
> Oh yeah, so i couldn't explain it in the chapter, but Ladybug and Chat Noir were late because marinette and adrien got stuck in a test and ms Mendeleiev wouldn't let them leave. F in the chat to them


	24. dance dance revolution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late. Trying to catch up but I’m writing at speed of sloth jkgjla

Floria hummed as she poured a cup of juice. August was taking his usual nap in his room, probably snoring away with Hippo watching over him. That left her with a little time for herself. She’d set _Dance Dance Revolution_ up, which was playing a catchy pop song in the background. It was a fun way to exercise when it was raining and she didn’t feel like doing something more structured. Plus, she loved dancing.

There was a knock at the door. Floria grabbed her phone so she could check the home screen. No messages or missed calls. Her brow wrinkled. Who was knocking, then? Unless …

She wandered over to the door and peered through the peep hole. Her heart did a little flutter-skip as she saw Louis standing outside. Of course. It was his day off as well.

Biting back a smile, she unlocked the door and pulled it open. “And to what do I owe this pleasure?”

He held up what looked like a fruit carton. A soft, protective cover hid whatever was inside. “Um, I was just visiting my sister, and she gave me a whole bunch of peaches. I thought you might like these.”

The huge smile she’d been holding back slipped free. He was always so thoughtful. “Thanks.”

He shrugged, rubbing the base of his neck. “No problem.”

“Wanna come in?” She waved him inside, then paused and swung back to face him. “Uh, if you have time, that is.”

“Sure.”

He took off his shoes, and she quickly seized her chance to grab the guest slippers that she’d bought for him. They were yellow and had a Mr Banana face on them, complete with cheesy grin. Her eyes twinkled as she held them out to him like they were a prestigious crown for his coronation. “For you,” she said with a straight face.

A laugh was startled out of him—the half snortish kind that had him pressing his hand to his face, his shoulders shaking. She grinned in delight that he’d reacted in the way she’d hoped.

“Where did you even find these?” he asked as he examined them.

“Can’t tell. It’s a secret.”

He raised his eyebrows, then his lips curved at one corner. “You had them custom made, didn’t you?”

Heat bloomed on her cheeks. “Was it that obvious?”

“Oh yeah. Mr Banana is not that popular.”

She ducked her head. Damn. The gift was a little too revealing when the effort she’d put into it got exposed. Of course, it wouldn’t be an issue if she was confident that he felt the same about her, but he was always so careful to keep a respectful distance between them. No romantic advances. No mention of the ice creams or whatever potential there had been between them in the past. He treated her like a friend. A dear but very definite friend. It was nice, but sometimes she just wanted to grab his face and kiss him on his stupid mouth.

“Are you going to put them on or not?” she asked.

“Of course.”

He put the slippers on his feet. They were awful, tacky things—nothing was ever going to change that—but they made him happy, and in the end that had been all she’d really wanted. Plus, she wanted to show that she’d paid attention. This was one of his family traditions. If she could respect that in a small way, albeit with her own humorous touch, she hoped he understood the sentiment.

“Want some juice?” she asked as she headed towards the kitchen area.

He nodded and set the carton of peaches on the bench. She poured him a glass, then took a sip of her drink.

“ _Dance Dance Revolution_?” he said, glancing at the television.

She leaned over the bench towards him. “Is that judgement in your tone?”

“No, no.” He waved his hands in a negating gesture. “Just wasn’t expecting it. I used to play it sometimes with my friends.”

“Oh yeah? You any good?”

He held her gaze, smiling in a way that made her heartbeat stumble. “Yeah, I’m not too bad. You?”

“Why don’t we see?”

Juice forgotten, she grabbed his hand and led him over to the squares on the floor. She made a show of tightening her ponytail and rolling her shoulders, then clasped her hands and extended her arms in one good stretch. “Since you’re the guest, I’ll let you choose the song.”

His eyes danced with laughter. “How nice of you.”

“I’m always nice to my guests.”

“Uh huh.” He grabbed the hair tie off his wrist and gathered his hair up into a topknot, stray curls spilling out to hug his ears and the base of his neck.

She shot him a glance under her lashes, her gaze following his every movement. Shorter hair had looked good on him, but she couldn’t deny that she was happy his hair grew so quickly. It was just too bad she had to keep her hands to herself. Probably. Maybe she could get away with a friendly ruffle if she stole his hair tie. (Even if she would have preferred to sink her fingers in and kiss him until they were both breathless.) 

“Well then,” he said, and she quickly forced her attention to his eyes, “you better get ready for this.”

“Don’t worry, I was born ready.”

He laughed and scrolled through the songs. When he paused on Station Nation’s most popular hit and the music started playing, her lips trembled with repressed laughter and she stared at him like he’d just brought a fork to a swordfight.

“No,” she said, still disbelieving that this was actually happening.

“Oh yes.”

“Are you serious?”

He grinned and hit select.

She playfully shoved his arm. “I can’t believe you! Station Nation?”

“Hey, it’s a classic. Also, it’s about to start, Miss Born Ready.” 

She did snort then but got into position. As it turned out, he hadn’t been lying about his dancing skills. Even performing the silly steps, she could tell that he was graceful and had natural rhythm. Not that her moves were anything to scoff at either. She’d lived and breathed this song as a child thanks to her parents—could have done the whole routine with no prompting. Mostly, though, it was just fun to dance with him and perform the song with all the dramatic flair it deserved.

“Ugh, I can’t believe we tied,” she complained when the song finished.

“So desperate to beat me?”

“I wanted to crush you.”

He let out a big bout of laughter, throwing his head back and his eyes crinkling right up.

“Shh, shh!” She stepped closer and clamped her hands over his mouth, even as she struggled to contain herself. His laughter was infectious. “You’re going to wake August.”

His fingers grazed her wrist, settling into a warm hold. It was a shock to her pulse. The little beat jumped and quickened, helpless to his touch like a strummed instrument. Gently, he lowered her hands. She almost shivered as his bottom lip caught on her palm with the motion—so fleeting, not even intentional.

“Sorry,” he murmured, his expression softening into a crooked smile, though his eyes still brimmed with amusement. “I’ll be good.”

She swallowed.

They stood so close. He was still holding her wrists, and her heart thumped and thumped like it had forgotten what it meant to be quiet. The beat was all she could hear, all she could feel. It wanted her to step closer.

She moistened her lips.

His pupils widened, pure black swallowing the shades of brown and little flecks of amber. It was such a subtle shift. Such a tiny, tiny thing, yet it tugged on her as surely as if he’d wrapped her up in an electrifying string. His fingertips pressed down a bit more against her skin, and the smile died on his lips—not to a frown. Just slightly parted.

Crying sounded from the other room.

Floria closed her eyes, a shaky laugh escaping her. “There he goes.”

Louis released her and stepped back. “Sorry. Guess I was too loud.”

“It’s fine.”

But whatever moment she and Louis had shared was well and truly shattered, if it had been a moment. Perhaps she’d imagined everything. Perhaps it had been wishful thinking. There was nothing but apology in his eyes now, and all that charged, heart-pounding tension was gone. If anything, he’d put more distance between them than usual.

“I should go to him,” she said, hoping he couldn’t hear the disappointment in her voice. 

“Yeah. I, um, I should go anyway.”

“Oh, sure.”

He rubbed the base of his neck, avoiding her gaze. “It’s just I’ve got lots to do. Learning lines and stuff. But, um, it was fun playing _Dance, Dance Revolution_ with you. Maybe we can do it again sometime.”

“Sure.”

“Oh, and enjoy the peaches.”

She blinked and glanced at the carton on the bench. “Right. Thanks again for those.”

He nodded and practically scurried out of the apartment. As soon as the door clicked shut, she groaned and covered her face with her hands. Well, it seemed that he had been aware of "the moment". He just hadn’t wanted to be a participant. She’d made him so uncomfortable that he’d ran away.

“Idiot,” she muttered.


	25. station nation cover band concert

Louis smiled at the entertainment news on his phone. A Station Nation cover band concert? That was different. Then again, ever since Adrien Agreste had thrown that crazy party, people had been talking a lot about the group.

“I’ve gotta show Floria this,” he murmured, his smile widening. Maybe he’d invite her to it. She’d probably enjoy it.

Well, maybe he’d invite a few others, too. Things had smoothed out pretty quickly between them after he’d almost kissed her and panic-fled her apartment. (Fortunately, she’d never brought up the matter.) Since then, he’d been extra careful not to give the wrong signals. It was just difficult when all he wanted was to take her out on dates and tell he loved her and kiss her until all he could think and breathe was her.

“Louis!” She thrust the door to his apartment open, August cradled to her hip. “Will you be my boyfriend?”

He blinked. His jaw went slack. He may have dropped his croissant on the floor. (Though it was still in its wrapping, so he at least didn’t have to mourn its loss or wonder if the five-second rule still applied when you were an adult.) “Um, what?” he said intelligently.

She slapped her hand to her forehead. “That came out wrong. What I meant to say is will you be my fake boyfriend?”

Fake.

_Fake._

He smiled, though his eyes were frozen and the same word kept chanting over and over in his head. Fake. Fake boyfriend. She wanted him to be her fake boyfriend.

“Louis?” She tilted her head. “Are you … do you want me to leave? Because I can totally do that. We can just forget I ever asked you and—”

“Fake,” he managed to say.

He hoped he didn’t sound as wheezy to her as he did to his ears, like he was some old man she’d just punched in the gut. In fact, he rather wished he hadn’t said that word at all. The smarter thing would have been to ask why, not just echo her like a parrot.

“Yeah.” She scratched her cheek. “See, funny thing. My parents rent out this cottage in Normandy every year with their old friends. It’s sort of like a reunion thing. And I get pressured into going, too.” Her shoulders slumped. “And their son, Nicolas, is there every year as well.”

“And that’s bad?”

Three words! Progress!

August squirmed and made grumpy noises, making it clear he wanted to be put down.

Louis shook off his dazed, punch-to-the-gut shock. “Ah, I’m sorry. Come in.”

Floria slid her feet into his guest slippers and then shuffled over and flopped onto the sofa, placing August on the floor. “Yeah, it’s bad. They’ve been trying to set me up with him for years.”

A petty part of Louis couldn’t help but celebrate that she did not seem to like this Nicolas. “Uh, okay.” He scrunched his nose. “I mean I’m sure that’s frustrating if you’re not interested in the guy, but I still don’t see why you need a fake boyfriend.”

She groaned and placed her head in her hands. “I’m sorry. I’m not explaining this clearly at all. I shouldn’t have even come here. It’s just you’re the only person I trust to help me with this.”

He sat next to her. “It’s fine. I’m just … confused. I’m assuming you’ve told your parents that you’re not interested in him.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“And they still want you to date him?”

She went quiet, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “He’s stable.” She said the words like they’d been quoted to her a lot. “And he is, you know. Has one of those fancy jobs where he just wears a suit all day and does stuff I don’t even understand.”

Louis’ lips twitched, though he soon sobered. “But you don’t care about that?”

“No.” She tugged her knee to her chest, her brow furrowing. “If I date someone, I want it to be for love. Not because Nicolas will be a way to bring our two families together or because he can provide for August and me better than I can myself.”

Bitterness laced her tone like the bite of a too sour fruit. She definitely didn’t like having her hard work belittled.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

Her shoulders crept towards her ears and she hugged her knee tighter, hiding her face against it. “It was unbearable last time. I was still pregnant, and they just wouldn’t stop hinting and hinting and trying to leave us alone together …”

His brow creased. Had August’s father not been in the picture then?

“But, honestly,” she said in a small voice, “if it was just the finance and uniting our families thing, I could probably deal with it and move on. It’s just …”

“Just?” he said gently.

“They don’t think anyone will have me now that I have August. Maybe for a fling. Maybe to string me along, but not for anything serious.” A short laugh. “Never for marriage.”

Louis’ fingers curled into his palms, digging deep. “What?”

“My parents didn’t use those words, of course, but it’s what they basically said. It’s like they think Nicolas is doing me a favour by being interested in me still, like I should be glad someone like him is willing to overlook my child. And it’s obvious that his parents wish he liked someone else, but they spoil him like he’s the king of their whole world, so of course they’re not going to put up a fuss when—”

“I’ll do it,” Louis blurted.

She raised her head, tears clinging to her eyelashes.

“I’ll do it. I’ll be your fake boyfriend.”

Her lips parted to form a small O, like she couldn’t believe he was actually agreeing to her plan.

He leaned closer and wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “You’re an amazing woman, Floria, and I’m sorry but your parents are acting like total arseholes by saying all that stuff to you.”

She hiccupped on a choked laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, they are.”

“So I’ll do it,” he repeated, his lips curving into a soft smile. “Whatever you need to make them shut up. Whatever you want to do. I’ll do it.”

She threw her arms around him in a hug. “Thank you.”

He held her close and closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can you tell i enjoy playing trope bingo? hfjhak


	26. knock knock (who’s there) orange you glad i didn’t say banana

Louis knocked on Floria’s door, idly spinning his keys on his finger. It was a moment before she answered, her hair pulled up in a topknot and a smear of what looked like August’s breakfast on her cheek.

“Oranges,” she said.

He blinked and glanced down at his shirt. It was black with an orange fruit print, complete with green leaves. He’d rolled up the sleeves to his elbows because of the heat. “Uh … yes? I am wearing oranges on my shirt.”

Her eyes sparkled. “For shame, Louis. That’s not very Mr Banana-ish of you.”

He groaned, even as a little laugh escaped him and he covered his face with one hand, shoulders shaking. “I’m never going to escape Mr Banana, am I?”

“Nope.”

He met her gaze, a smile lingering on his lips. “Are you ready to go?”

“Almost. Just finishing up the dishes.”

“I’ll help.” He picked up his bag, then paused. “Oh, and you’ve got a bit of food on your cheek.”

“What?” she yelped. “Where? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

A cheeky glint entered his eyes. “Well, you were too busy shaming me for my—”

She shoved him playfully. “Just get inside.”

The door swung shut to the sound of his laughter.

oOo

Music played in the car, though not too loud. August was asleep in the back, and both Floria and Louis wanted to keep it that way.

“Mum’s asking how far away we are again,” Floria said, feet propped against the dashboard as she stared at her phone. “I think she’s impatient to meet you.”

Louis kept his gaze on the road. “Impatient to judge me, you mean.”

“Honestly? Yeah.”

He grimaced.

She leaned over and placed her hand on his knee. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this. I know it’s a lot.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I wouldn’t have agreed if I wasn’t willing to stick it through.”

He just hoped they could pull this off.

oOo

The cottage was nice. It was the colour of a pale seashell and had campsis growing up one side of the wall in a vibrant embrace of red. It was also bigger than he’d expected. Through the gaps in the fence, he could see a little garden—which he was unashamedly curious to explore—and what looked like a swimming pool. The seaside view cinched the deal. No wonder her parents liked to come here every year.

“You ready for this?” Floria asked, meeting his gaze.

“Guess we’ll find out.”

Floria’s parents, Emma and Noah, came out to greet them as Louis was getting the bags out of the car, their red hair sticking out like a bright flame. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting from them—it wasn’t a big secret that they’d prefer someone else dating their daughter—but smiles and for them to initiate a kiss on each cheek was not it.

“We were so surprised when Floria asked us if she could bring her boyfriend,” Emma said with a tinkling little laugh. “I was saying to Noah it was too bad of her to have hidden you away from us for so long, but at least we finally get to meet you now.” She flashed her teeth in another smile and patted his arm. “I hope you’ll tell us all about yourself.”

Ah, there was the shark sniffing for a bite.

He smiled his best customer-service smile. “Of course. I look forward to getting to know you both more as well.”

Two, after all, could play at that game.

oOo

“Your parents are something,” Louis said, once he and Floria had retreated to the bedroom they’d been given. He sat on the floor, playing with August, while she unpacked a few of her things.

“I did warn you,” she said.

He picked up an orange star and handed it to August, letting him figure out which slot to put it into on the shape sorter box. “I still can’t believe they wanted you to date Nicolas.”

The guy was exactly as Louis had imagined: slicked-back brown hair, clothes that probably should have been casual but were so well-ironed that they were uncomfortable just to look at, and he wore a bluetooth earpiece. Who wore a bluetooth earpiece when they were supposed to be relaxing on holiday? Nicolas Morel, that’s who.

“I take it you didn’t like him,” she said with a hint of amusement.

“The guy’s a—he’s like the workaholic version of a boiled potato. Two minutes of conversation with him and I wanted to bash my head against a wall.”

She laughed and placed her comb on the dresser. “I know, right?”

“Please tell me he at least lets you get a word in when you’re the one talking to him.”

“Nope. It’s all him, him, him and work, work, work.”

Louis pulled a face.

She laughed again. “Now you understand.”

“Oh, I understand. I very much understand.”

And there was no way that Floria—amazing, lively, always-ready-to-joke Floria—deserved to be wasted on such a guy. Didn’t her parents know her at all? Was uniting with the Morels that important to them? Or did they really just think so little of her because she had a child? And why did August have to be seen as a drawback anyway? It was so stupid.

Louis stared at August, who grinned and pointed with childish delight to show he’d found the right slot for the star. “Yeah, little guy,” Louis said, holding his hand up for a hi-five, though his smile was tinged with frustrated sadness. “You did it.”

August wasn’t a drawback. He was just August, just like Floria was Floria. And Louis … he loved them both.


	27. banana peel slip gag

Floria approached the bed with a tiny smile. August was asleep in his cot, and Louis was already settled in their bed, scrolling on his phone while he waited for her. She’d thought it would be more awkward to share a bed with Louis, but he’d accepted the fact so easily that it helped her to relax as well. (Though her stomach still fluttered when she slid under the covers and shuffled closer to him.)

“Louis, look,” she said, and showed him her phone screen. “It’s you.”

He glanced up from his phone, only to groan and fall back against his pillow, dropping his phone on the blanket and covering his face with his hands. “Where did you find that?”

“The internet.”

“Please delete it.”

She snorted and glanced back at the screen. A video of him as Mr Banana slipping on a banana peel was playing on repeat. Every time he tripped, he’d fall dramatically into the splits and make a big show of being hurt while at the same time not showing it. Instead, he’d pull finger guns at the camera and tell the audience to “Stay peachy!”

“This was your first show, wasn’t it?” she said.

“Yes.”

She leaned closer, peering down at him. “Are you that embarrassed of your grand introduction?”

He lowered his hands and sat up—faster than expected. Their faces were close now, and her heart stumbled on its rhythm, so clumsy and quick to change to his beat. He arched his eyebrow and took the phone from her hand, fingers brushing hers in the whisper of a caress. “Look,” he said flatly, and showed her the clip. “Look at that and tell me everything about it is not cringe.”

“I dunno. It’s impressive you can do the splits.”

He snorted. “Not what we’re focussing on here.”

“But you can do them?”

“Yes, Floria. I can do the splits.” His lips curved and he leaned back on his palm. “I actually wanted to be an action star when I was little. Do my own stunts. The whole works.”

She smiled. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah.” His expression softened, turning more distant as if he was thinking of old memories. “Mum and Dad hated it, of course. Made a rule I wasn’t allowed to parkour in the house.”

She laughed and leaned against him, taking her phone from his hand. “Your poor parents.”

“What about you?” he asked, glancing at her. “What did you want to be when you grew up?”

“Promise you won’t laugh.”

A twinkle entered his eye. “Oh, I don’t know after hearing you say that. I don’t think I can make any promises.”

She grabbed his arm. “Louis.”

He laughed and leaned back more on his palms, making her follow the motion since she was pressed against him. “I promise I’ll do my very best not to laugh.”

She bit her lip, fighting back a smile. “I wanted to be a secret agent. You know, for the DGSE.”

He didn’t laugh, but he did smile in that warm, crooked way that made her feel like he’d wrapped her up in his arms. “We make quite the pair, don’t we? An action hero and a secret agent.”

Flutters stirred inside her, sweet and soaring. A pair. The words felt so _right_.

Her gaze dropped to his lips, then back to his eyes. “Guess we do,” she murmured.

The hush that settled was like silk wrapping around them, soft and fragile. Her heart pounded faster. It would be so easy to lean in. Terrifyingly easy. But no. She was not going to kiss Louis when they were sharing a bed and she had asked him to be her fake boyfriend. No matter what all the thrumming, fluttering beats inside her wanted, she would not break his trust like that.

She pulled away and shifted to put more space between them, even though her side was left cold and exposed to the loss of him like a tree that had lost its twining neighbour. “Well,” she said, her voice a bit croaky, “we clearly didn’t achieve those dreams. I’m a receptionist at a dental clinic, and you’re a part-time barista and, uh … what would you call Mr Banana?”

“A man who really needs money.”

She laughed. “Well, for what it’s worth, August loves Mr Banana. He gets excited every time he sees you on television.”

The cheeky glint returned to Louis’ eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, then bit his lip, clearly deciding against it.

“What?” she said.

“Nothing. Just if August is my number one fan, I guess I can live with that.”

She was dead certain that wasn’t what he had intended to say, but she decided not to push it. Maybe he’d been going to bring up how she’d fancied him when she’d only known him as Mr Banana, and she really didn’t want to risk that.

He yawned and settled back against his pillow, placing his phone and glasses on the bedside table. “It’s getting late. We should probably get some sleep.”

She made a humming sound of agreement and handed him her phone so he could place it with his, then she settled down beside him. The light was flicked off with a soft _click_. Darkness blanketed the room. It was the perfect conditions for sleep, except she couldn’t relax. Every inch of her was hyperaware of the man lying barely an arm’s reach from her. He had might as well have been a magnet and she was his twin, helpless to his pull.

She sighed and rolled to face the other way. No good. It was too close to the edge and somehow made the pull that drew her to him worse. At this rate, she’d just end up feeling more awake.

She shifted onto her back. Lay there. Stared at the ceiling. Fidgeted with the sheet. Glanced at the sliver of light creeping through the gap in the curtains. More staring at the ceiling. A shift of her feet. Scratched her chin. Glanced to the side at his shadowed form.

How much time had passed? A few minutes? An hour? She couldn’t tell.

She sighed again.

“What’s wrong?” he said softly.

“Huh?”

“You keep sighing.”

Heat crawled over her face. Lucky it was dark.

“Are you uncomfortable?” he asked. “You don’t have to stay so close to the edge, you know.”

Her heart thumped faster and she shuffled closer, pulling back like a hesitant butterfly—the non-creepy kind—when her leg brushed his. “Sorry.”

He laughed softly, and his voice was low and husky with tiredness when he spoke. “Relax.” A yawn. “Honestly, I didn’t think I’d have to tell you that. Thought you’d be the cuddler type.”

Oh, she was. Most definitely. She just didn’t know if she _should_ snuggle up to him. Too bad her mouth had decided to act on its own.

“Is that an invitation?” she said.

He hummed sleepily. “Don’t care what you do. Just don’t punch me in the face in your sleep or something.”

She laughed. “Has that happened to you before?”

“Mmm.”

She took that as a yes.

Heart pounding, she closed the last few centimetres until her back was pressed to his chest and their bodies were curving together. It was like all the tension drained out of her. This. This was what she had wanted. He threw an arm loosely over her waist, and his chin brushed the exposed skin on her shoulder as he shifted to find a more comfortable position. But even if the unexpected touch sent her pulse stuttering, she soon relaxed into his hold. Into him.

“Night, Floria,” he mumbled.

She closed her eyes, a small smile curving her lips. “Night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i cannot do fake dating and not include And There Was Only One Bed for my trope bingo. That is just wrong


	28. i dont remember a time before i started making this list. i don’t even really like bananas

“I don’t even remember a time before I started making this list,” Floria said, frowning as she fished around in her suitcase for August’s baby wetsuit. She pulled it out with a triumphant smile, then looked around for his hat, which she had already brought out.

Louis picked up the hat next to him and handed it to her. “So chuck it.”

“What?”

“Just chuck it. Gone. Bye.”

She laughed. “I can’t do that.”

“I would.”

A smile curved her lips. “Well, we can’t all be like you.”

He shrugged and tugged off his t-shirt. The fabric ruffled his curls on the way, and she may or may not have let her gaze wander to admire the way his muscles shifted with the movement. Just a little wander, of course. She had some class. (Even if his chest and arms were very nice. He had a slender build, but it was obvious that he actually used his gym membership instead of doing the odd few rounds in January before falling into another cycle of Netflix, guilt, and broken resolutions. Not that she spoke from experience. That totally wasn’t the reason she had stopped her gym membership.)

“So,” she said, “I—”

He stood up and shucked off his trousers, then reached for the waistband of his briefs. Her eyes bulged like round, startled moons.

“What are you doing?” she asked. Or more like squeaked.

His brow furrowed. “Getting changed. It’s not like I can swim in my clothes …”

“Well, yeah, but you—I mean we’re not—” Heat spread all over her cheeks. Shameful, shameful heat. (And that was not fair. She was an adult who had well and truly seen a naked man before. She did not have to blush like this.)

He straightened, holding his hands up as if in surrender. His expression was so aghast that it was like it wanted to imitate Munch’s ‘The Scream’, only with less inner demon and more _cruel world, please let me die now_. “Oh hell,” he blurted at lightning speed, “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“N-no, you didn’t.”

“I just have to get changed in front of people all the time, and I’m so comfortable with you that I didn’t think, and—”

“I’m glad that you’re comfortable with me.”

“—I really didn’t mean anything weird or suggestive by it, and—”

“Honestly, I’d like it if you got naked in front of me.”

He paused, his eyes widening.

Oh no. Oh no, no, no. Mouth, _why_? Betrayer! Betrayer forever!

“Um,” he said, rubbing the base of his neck. “You would?”

A brilliant, twitching smile fixed itself to her face. “Well, now that that’s settled, I better go collect August from Dad. See you at the pool!”

She spun on her heel and fled the room.

oOo

“You could still talk to him more,” her dad scolded as he prepared drinks for everyone, August crawling around his feet.

Floria repressed a groan. “Dad, I have a boyfriend, and it’s not like Nicolas even talks to me. He just talks _at_ me.”

“His work is very important and—”

“We have nothing in common. Nothing.”

“But you’ve been friends for years.”

She pressed her hand to her forehead. “No, Dad! You and Mum have been friends with his parents for years. I’m just happy when he ignores my existence.”

“But he does like you, Florbear, and I know you’re dating this Louis fellow now, but—”

“Oh, look! Here comes Louis.” Floria scooped August up into her arms. “Gotta go. Thanks for looking after August.”

“But—”

She made her escape, greeting Louis with a relieved smile. (In that blessed moment, she had forgotten how she’d told him that, yes, she would like to see him naked.) He was wearing contacts and had put his hair up, though the usual curls still got loose. Then she noticed his swim shorts. They were teal and had pineapples wearing “deal with it” sunglasses printed on them.

Her eyes twinkled. “Being a traitor to your fruit again?”

He glanced down, then let out one of those half-exhale soft laughs. “I’ll let you in on a secret,” he said, leaning closer as if it was a big, dramatic thing that could not be shared. “I don’t actually like bananas that much.”

She pressed her hand to her mouth in mock horror. “For shame, Louis!”

“I know.”

They shared a laugh, and it was only then as they stood close, laughter dying on their lips and still holding each other's gaze, that she remembered what she had said in the bedroom. Heat spread in a blotchy wave over her face.

Suddenly, she thrust August up between them. “Shall we go swimming now?”

He blinked. “Uh, sure.”

She turned stiffly and headed for the pool. This was going to be so awkward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What was the list for, you ask? keep asking. you will never know. forever a mystery


	29. potassium

Floria slipped away to the kitchen and leaned against the bench, closing her eyes. “C’mon,” she muttered, “pull it together.”

Just because Louis was driving her crazy with how amazing he was and all of his stupid attractiveness did not mean that she had to act like a flustered mess whenever he was near. She’d been able to act normal once. Why was now any different? Besides, she could have sworn that he hadn’t always been this attractive. It was witchcraft, obviously.

Or maybe it was just the fact that she was hopelessly in love with him.

“It won’t work.”

She jumped, hand going for her heart as it gave a funny skip-lurch, except not the nice kind. “Nicolas,” she said. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Your boyfriend is a part-time waiter and a barely-respected entertainer known as Mr Banana.”

Her eyebrows snapped together. “What—”

“He’s never going to be able to take care of you. You’ll always be struggling. You had might as well sign yourself to a life of drudgery with him.”

“Nicolas—”

A short laugh. “That’s if he even stays with you, of course.”

Her fingers curled into her palms. Anger itched at her skin like insect bites, nagging for her to do something. Say something. Just be like those women in the movies and give him a good old slap to the face. Except she couldn’t. She wasn’t even dating Louis, and her track record with relationships was bad. They all knew that.

“I don’t want to have this conversation,” she said, and made to leave.

He blocked her with his body. Not touching her—no, he would never do that. He just stood in her path, tall and like a pillar of arrogance. She hated that she had to crane her neck to meet his eyes.

“I’m just concerned,” he said softly, “as are your parents.”

“You have a funny way of showing it.”

“Floria—”

“Don’t.” She held her hands up as if to ward him off, taking a step back. “Just don’t.”

“Floria, if you thought about this more logically, you’d see that—”

“I don’t want to be logical! I don’t want you! Why can’t you understand that?”

He smiled. “I know you’re upset right now, but I think we both know that—”

“No!” Her eyes stung, much to her frustration. “Don’t tell me how I feel. Don’t—”

“I’m just trying to—”

“How about you listen to me for once!” She stepped forward and jabbed him hard in the chest. “You don’t get to decide anything for me. You don’t get to speak for me.” Another jab. “And you definitely don’t have any kind of claim over me!”

He rolled his eyes and actually dared to sigh. “Now you’re just being dramatic.”

She laughed, though it was humourless. “Dramatic?”

“I’m trying to express how much I worry and care for you, and you—”

“You don’t even know me! If you did, you’d know that I don’t care about a big home or a nice car or—”

He raised his eyebrow. “So, you don’t care about providing a good future for August?”

Fire blazed in her eyes. “Don’t you dare bring August into this,” she hissed. “Don’t you dare pretend that you care about him!”

His eyes widened and he shifted on his feet, clearly thrown off by the sudden attack.

“See, I know _you_ , Nicolas,” she said fiercely in a low voice, “and I would rather work in my thankless job and be a solo mum forever than be with you!”

He swallowed, straightening to his full height. Pink dusted his cheeks in an angry flush. “You think that banana man is really going to—”

She grabbed a piece of fruit from the bowl on the bench and shoved it at his face. Ironically, it was a banana. “Oh, just eat that and shut up.”

“W-what,” he spluttered. “You—”

“Bananas have lots of potassium, you know,” she said with an edged smiled. “They’re good for you.”

Then she pushed past him and stormed out of the kitchen before he could respond.

oOo

“Whoa,” Louis said, backing up a step as she almost collided with him in the hallway. “Sorry, I—” His eyes widened. “Are you okay?”

She swallowed against the lump in her throat, her eyes prickling and wetness gathering in the corners. Frustration still seethed under skin, but now the adrenaline was gone and it left her trembling. Her armour was too chipped to be of use a second time. “Louis.”

He stepped closer, scanning her as if looking for an injury. “What happened? What—”

She blinked back tears and wrapped her arms around him. “Get me out of here. Please.”

He held her without hesitation. “Okay.”

oOo

She wasn’t sure how he convinced her parents to look after August so the two of them could be alone, but it wasn’t long before he was leading her by the hand out of the cottage. The sky was warm with the blush of sunset, all smears of fire and pink. It would have been romantic if she wasn’t blowing her nose every few seconds.

He squeezed her hand gently. “Shall we walk?”

She nodded.

They headed down the road in silence, for he seemed to have no desire to make her talk. _Take your time_ , he said with his touch. _Whenever you’re ready_. The endless supply of tissues he handed her were also much appreciated, but then that was typical of him. He’d never been one to shy from the messy parts of life.

“We argued,” she croaked.

He paused, meeting her gaze with a questioning look.

“Nicolas.”

His lips pursed in a small, tightly restrained way, like he was trying hard not to let his full emotions through. “He’s the one who upset you?”

She laughed hollowly and lowered her gaze to their hands. “It wasn’t just him. It’s this place. It’s my parents. It’s the fact I finally told Nicolas everything I’ve wanted to say to him for years, yet here I am a total mess because I …”

“What?” he said gently.

“I’m scared he’s right.” Fresh prickles stung her eyes. “I’m scared they’re all right. I’m practically living paycheque to paycheque, and I’m trying to raise a son on my own, and every relationship I have is a failure, and—” She squeezed her eyes shut. “It’s hard, Louis. It’s really hard. Half the time it feels like everyone is waiting for me to screw up so they can laugh and say I told you so.”

He pulled her into his arms, holding her close enough for her to feel the steady beat of his heart. “They’re wrong,” he said, low and earnest. “They’re so wrong about you, Floria. You are so strong and so amazing and so kind and—"

She hiccupped on a little sob.

“Why are you crying?” he asked in alarm.

“Because you’re saying nice things.”

His laugh was soft and passed through her like the gentlest of waves. “Well, I mean every word.”

Her heart thudded faster. She nuzzled into his neck, dampening his skin with her tears, but he didn’t care. He just held her and smoothed his hand down her hair. It was like sinking into a warm bath, every bit of tension melting out of her. Maybe that was witchcraft, too. Or maybe it was just another whisper of what she already knew.

“Floria,” he murmured in her ear, “you are the most wonderful woman I have ever met, and August is lucky to have you as his mum.” 

Her fingers curled into his shirt.

“I mean it. I’ve seen for myself how much you love him and all of the effort you put in to provide for him. You’re—”

“Are you trying to make me cry now?” she demanded.

His arm tightened around her waist and he nuzzled her back slightly with his cheek, even though she was undoubtedly getting snot and tears all over him. “I’m telling you what you deserve to hear.”

Another sob threatened to slip free of her lips. Every word he said was like a direct hit to her heart, except they were beautiful words that filled the cracks and chips that had threatened to shatter her. She couldn’t help but try to hold him closer—close enough to make her ribs twinge in protest. And he embraced it all.

“I know it’s hard,” he said more softly, “but I know you won’t screw up. You can do this. You have been doing this. And, Floria? You won’t be alone. Not unless that’s what you want. Even if I didn’t …”

She stilled, her heart pounding so fast that the beat was a thunderous song in her ears. “What?” she whispered.

“I don’t know if I should say it.”

She pulled back enough to look him in the face. “Tell me. Please.”

He held her gaze and his hand came up to cup her cheek, brushing away some of her tears with his thumb. “Even if I didn’t love you, someone else would be bound to see how amazing you are and fall for you as well.”

Her breath caught in her throat. The thunderous beat turned dizzying, yet she had never felt so grounded. It was like seizing hold of an anchor that she had never known she needed.

“You love me?” she said in a hushed voice.

“Floria, I never stopped loving you.”

A shaky laugh escaped her. “Then I—you’re telling me I fretted and tried to hold myself back for nothing?”

He tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“I thought—I thought you saw me as a friend.”

His mouth twitched. “You are my friend.”

“But still!”

“But still,” he agreed, his gaze dropping to her lips.

Her heart pounded faster. There was no mistaking what he wanted this time. It was a call of exhilaration through her blood, a stirring of her body and soul. All she had to do was say those few words.

“If you knew I loved you back,” she whispered, “what would you do now?”

“I’d ask if I could be your boyfriend for real.”

“And?”

His thumb caressed her cheek, coming dangerously close to her lips. “I’d ask if I could kiss you.”

She closed her eyes. “You would?”

“Yeah.”

She leaned in instinctively, letting their breath intermingle. “Then the answer is yes to both,” she breathed, so soft it was like a sigh. “I love you, Louis. I always have.”

It was all the invitation he needed. His lips brushed hers, barely slanting into a proper kiss before she pulled back.

“Wait,” she said. “I’m all gross from crying. Maybe we should—”

“Floria, I really don’t care,” he said huskily. “Unless you want to stop, I would very much like to kiss you right now.”

Her heart stuttered. “Oh. Yeah, okay.”

They kissed again. His lips were softer than silk, yielding yet not hesitating in the slightest to return what she gave. Warmth spread from her chest all the way to her toes. Her body throbbed with the rapid beat of her heart, and she tangled her hands in his hair as the kiss turned into a haze of tingles, velvet caresses, and shared breath.

He gave her one last, lingering kiss and then pulled back, resting his forehead against hers. “We should probably head back.”

“I know.”

Neither made any motion to move. Eventually, though, her hand did slide down to hold his. He intertwined their fingers and smiled in that warm way she had always loved.

“Ready?” he asked.

She nodded.

Hand in hand, they walked back to the cottage.


	30. (banana) splitting up

Louis sat at the table in his apartment and clicked the button to end the call, placing the phone down with unnatural slowness. His mind was still trying to process what he had just heard.

Arms came around him from behind, and lips pressed a kiss to his neck. “Morning.”

He blinked. “What?”

Floria laughed and ruffled his hair. “You even awake there, spacey?”

He twisted to face her, folding his arms on top of the chair and resting his chin on them. A smile curved her lips as she met his gaze. She had thrown on a pair of his trousers and a loose t-shirt, and a part of her hair was sticking up at a funny angle. He had never thought her more beautiful.

“What?” she said.

“I got the job.”

Her eyes widened. “The TV presenter one?”

He nodded.

“You—Louis! Why didn’t you say sooner?”

He laughed as she half-sprawled on him in a hug. “Honestly, I’m still reeling. I didn’t think I would get it.”

“Of course you’d get it!” She pressed a big kiss to his cheek, then to his lips, and then squeezed him tight in another hug. “I’m so happy for you.”

He stood up so he could hold her better, closing his eyes as he nestled his face into her hair.

“Mama! Lou-Lou!”

Louis pulled back, laughing as he glanced down at August, who had toddled over to tug at their legs. “What’s that, little guy? You want hugs and kisses, too?” He scooped him up and gave August a hug and big old kiss to the cheek, complete with “mwah” sound. August giggled and snuggled into him.

“He really likes you,” Floria murmured, smiling as she watched them.

“You think he’ll still like me when he finds out I won’t be his Mr Nana anymore?”

She snorted. “I’m sure he’ll get over it once he can see his Lou-Lou on television with no banana suit in the way.”

His lips curved. Right. He was going to get to be himself this time. After all of his hard work, things were finally changing. He could resign from the Mr Banana role, which had never paid well or even been reliable. And though it would still be a struggle with money at first, he was sure his boss at the café would let him cut back his hours without giving up the job completely. In any case, getting out of the banana suit was a step in the right direction.

Though maybe he was going to miss the suit just a little. It was how he and Floria had first met after all.


	31. wedding

Floria snuggled close to Louis on the sofa. He’d come over to her apartment—even cooked dinner and put August to sleep—and now they were watching a movie together. Just a typical, easy night when they didn’t want to go out or couldn’t find a babysitter.

“Hey,” he said softly.

“Mm?”

“I’ve been thinking …”

She yawned and snuggled more into him. “About what?”

“About us … and our future.”

_Our future._

The words sent a little thrill through her, and her heart sped up in a familiar song of anticipation. She sat up so she could look at him. “What do you mean?”

He clasped her hand, holding her gaze. “What do you think about marriage?”

Her eyes widened. She hit pause on the controller to make the TV shut up, then looked back at him with her heart thudding against her ribs. “Are you”—she swallowed and licked her dry lips—“are you saying you want to marry me?”

“Yeah.” He gave a little shrug and smile. “Sorry there’s no fanfare. I just thought it best to discuss it with you first.”

Tears prickled her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.

“Please tell me those are happy tears,” he said, biting his lip.

She laughed and wiped away the tears. “Yeah. Yeah, they are.”

It was a dream she’d always had right from when she was a little girl. The wedding, the pretty dress, the cake, the handsome man to take her hand and slip a ring on her finger. But then she’d muddled everything up. She’d got pregnant from a one-night stand—a traveller she’d met at a festival who had been fun and nice, but who had also moved on to a different country the next day. No numbers had been exchanged. No address. It was what it was, and she’d never expected him to come back and marry her, let alone be a father to their child.

And men, as she had learnt, didn’t particularly want to commit when they’d have to share her attention or take onboard someone else’s kid.

“You really want to marry me?” she couldn’t help but ask again.

He smiled. “I really want to marry you, Floria.”

“Even if it means you’ll have to help me raise August?”

“I would love to raise August with you.”

Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. He meant it. The sincerity was right there imprinted in the softness in his eyes and the warmth in his voice. He loved her, he loved August, and he wanted them to be a family together.

He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. “Well?” he said gently. “What do you think?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Relief touched his eyes. “I’m sorry I don’t have a ring yet, but”—he raised her hand and pressed a kiss to where an engagement ring would rest on her finger—"I promise that I will make you happy.”

A laugh escaped her, even as more tears fell. “I know you will.”

Then she threw her arm around his neck and kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s the end!!!
> 
> wow, what a trip this has been. I started rednana august thinking I would do 3 days at most and they would all be silly crack. I never suspected I would end up writing a 30k+ story and have genuine feelings for the redhaired-background lady and Mr Banana ghajkhjak
> 
> anyway, thanks for reading! And big thank you to bugaboo-n-bananoir for making rednana august. i got me a new otp now


End file.
